


Falling Stars- Destiel

by maarsss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accepting Dean Winchester, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bickering, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Dorks, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester is Not Heterosexual, Declarations Of Love, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Feels, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Introspective Castiel (Supernatural), Introspective Dean Winchester, Love Confessions, M/M, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Minor Character Death, Porn with Feelings, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Third Wheel Sam Winchester, Top/Bottom Versatile Castiel/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25034290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maarsss/pseuds/maarsss
Summary: (Set in the context of the ninth season of Supernatural)Chaos hovers over the heads of the Winchesters with heaviness while a war for supremacy in Heaven and Hell is underway. Cain's mark is traced on Dean's skin in a desperate quest to defeat Abaddon  and Castiel's wings are a distant memory.           A scary creature lives  in Sam's body, whom he himself  doesn't know about. Metatron is far away and directs the games from above while factions of angels are created because of  the lack of authority.In the utter confusion, silence can only be found in the other’s gaze, in a faded smile, in a touch of bodies and it’s when two souls, lingering on one another, finally reach, that two hearts seem to beat louder
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. 1.

_There’s something strange about this world,_

_About how souls intertwine with one another_

_About the flowers drifting by_

_With the echoes of the clouds by their side_

_and then the sky,_

_blue well of desires_

_and can’t the people decide_

_what’s so big about it all_

_and then they see it_

_and for a moment_

_it could be_

_just_

_a pair of eyes_

_all the pain goes away_

_and it’s when pain meets flawless_

_that the world echoes with them_

_and maybe they were destined to dance_

_since then._

_forgive me if I can’t say goodbye_

_I have said it too many times_

_but you were the ‘once’ in a lifetime_

_and if_

_to reach is to hold_

_in a thunderstorm_

_maybe our hearts_

_grabbed faster than our hands_

_and how strange it is_

_to think_

_we met between two worlds_

_but then again_

_raised how I was,_

_let me be you safe place_

_now that you fall_

_wings fell from the sky_

_oh, what a strange night_

The surrounding air became cold all of a sudden. The angels’ wings , which whirled abundantly in the atmosphere, generated swirls of emptiness. The trees’ branches swayed vehemently , forcing the animals upon the boughs, which had settled shortly before the night, to soar in the sky, flying upwards and accompanying those same bodies whose feathers were corroding due to the fire they were wrapped in. Others descended, walking through the trunk of the trees and layed quietly on the natural floor, differing from the power with which God’s creatures were encountering the Earth.

Dean enveloped Sam with an arm, the blood of his brother’s wounds running down his jeans, while admiring the sky now covered with what would later be traded as 'meteorites' on the news. Lights exploded in the night sky, lighting it up with colours tending to yellow, white and red, tearing open the darkness of that same world the angels always had the task of protecting.

Flowing into the human atmosphere, the hunter felt the cold air on his skin, the sound of the water rising and lowering due to the frequent interferences of the feathered creatures. 

Dean’s eyes carefully followed the course of those shooting stars that oscillated vehemently, landing, and the loud noise that came from these.

Thumps and screams of that pain they had never really felt. He could imagine the blood flowing out of their bodies; the forehead, white due to the fear; the mouth open for curiosity; the emptiness in the chest for the missing grace.

Sam groaned beside him, and Dean, until then abandoned to a spectacle that the world had never known, took his face between trembling hands.

«Sam! Sammy!» he cried out, trying to overcome the sounds that flooded their bodies; the sky that exploded above them.

«What... what’s going on?» asked Sam, the face reduced to a grimace of pain; the hair attached to the bloody forehead.

Dean looked at his brother and tightened the grip, trying to cover him more, making the fabric of the jacket adhere to the body of the younger whose face was dangerously changing colour, drowning in white shades that reminded Dean of the atmosphere above.

«The angels», Dean said, glancing a last look at the sky, before carrying an arm around Sam’s shoulder, encircling it in order to make him rise from the ground «They are falling»

The Impala screeched against the asphalt as the wheels traced confused lines on the ground, while the hunter lingered on the mobile phone that he held in his hand, analyzing the path to follow.

He had taken Sam to the hospital and had watched the doctors take note of his life vestments while that had fell into a deep sleep. When the doctor his brother was in custody of had tried to calm him down, Dean had put his hands in the hair, looked the medic straight in the eyes and told him in a not particularly diplomatic tone that he would have to do anything to save him.

Now Dean was driving his car in the darkness of the night, so different from what only a few hours before had been a theater of lights and colours. He had made a promise to himself to be by Sam’s side for as long as his brother had to wait till waking up , but the doctor had reassured him and had said that during the exams Dean could not be present; and so the hunter had made his way out of the room, growling, and, through some trick that Kevin had teached him not so long ago, he tried to locate Castiel’s phone. Dean thought of the fallen angel and a knot gripped his stomach as images of thuds, screams and blood penetrated into his mind, releasing all the pain they carried with him. Not that Dean cared about the angels that had falled that night, after all.

Sam was sick, Dean knew that.

The medic had tried to reassure him, showing him some data from the tests previously taken and pointing out that all of them were on average positive. Nevertheless, the hunter knew that his brother had suffered infernal pains and if that had not reflected in his body by now, it would not take too long for this masquerade to fall apart anyways.

This interested him now: finding a way to heal Sam, having his brother back, and finding Castiel, who had presumably fallen a few hours before, God knows where.

He really hoped within himself that Castiel could help him, but it also nested, silent in his consciousness, the deepest realization that the search for his friend who only a few hours before he could have said "feathered" was not due to mere opportunism. It had nothing to do with Sam. Not at all, at least.

He followed the light signal indicating the position on the small screen of his cell phone and felt relieved when, turning right, he saw that the roads corresponded. Although the signal kept moving from time to time, Dean realized that Castiel had to be around and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

It was when a shadow caught his attention that Dean sharpened his sight, opened wide his eyes, and abandoned the car on the roadside, leaving the latter. A raised sigh came out of his mouth along with the name of what could no longer be called an angel

«Cas» said Dean in a strong voice, trying to catch the attention of what, promptly, even though was wandering about thirty meters away from him in a lost field, turned around, meeting the hunter’s gaze.

A flash of relief sparked upon Castiel’s exhausted face, whom advanced towards the other.

Dean approached him and when their bodies met halfway, the hunter wrapped him in a hug. Castiel surrendered himself in his arms with a devastated sigh, intoxicated by the warmth felt for having found a safe place after those hours that had marked his end.

The end of his essence, of everything he had been until now.

It was nothing. It was no longer worth anything.

The smell of the wet grass below penetrated into his nostrils, as emotions made their way into his mind and body.

Shame, fear, pain. Red, black, purple: This is how Castiel would define the things he was feeling.

He felt, felt within him, something expanding in his chest, in his heart, in his acts, in the most hidden meanders of his own body and entrusted him with a name, a colour, whatever made clearer the ramifications that branched out within him. A fictitious knot in the stomach that didn’t seem to fade.

His own arms, lowered to the sides of his hips, only then returned Dean’s embrace and held him a little tighter, trying to imitate the same grip with which the other had hold him that time in Purgatory and with which the fears had disappeared only for a moment among the surrounding trees.

Dean broke the embrace, smiling at that who was in front of him and leaning a hand on his shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, but no word came out.

Castiel’s eyes stared at the boy with sweet sadness, noticing the way Dean’s orbits followed his gaze, his Adam’s apple that rose and lowered to swallow, his breath heavier every moment that passed.

«Are you hurt?» pronounced then Dean, quickly checking the body of the other and realizing that he was physically well; his thoughts briefly confirmed by the shaking of the head coming from Castiel, in sign of denial.

«I am not...» And Castiel would have liked to continue that sentence, to tell him that yes, as Dean had probably noticed, he was no longer an angel, he was no longer what he was created for.

That every function, every gesture ever made to follow the will of God, his father, was now clouded by something that pulsated in his chest, by a breath that became more suffocating, by a hole in the stomach for what had to be if not hunger? The throat dried up by the need for water, the temple scarred by a wound that shortly before he could have healed easily. 

And that sentence, left unfinished, now seemed not to be so wrong. He was no longer. He just _was not._

Dean’s voice accompanied the softly created silence , without breaking it completely with the rude tone that he often used, but gently caressed the atmosphere created and knocked, asking to enter into that whirlwind of thoughts that had upsetted the man next to him.

«I know» he simply said.

Castiel looked up at the sight that had previously slipped on the ground and sought in Dean’s expression any trace of shame, embarrassment, repulsion, but found nothing.

«Metatron» Castiel started, the same uncompromising voice as ever «He took away my grace»

Dean followed his words and remained silent, allowing the other to continue and trying to hide the bitter note that had crossed his body. The hunter had, in fact, made up his mind , realizing that, unless he was mistaking something , it meant that he could not help Sam.

But there was something more.

Something in the tone in which Castiel had spoken those words, the way they had lingered on his tongue, coming out insecure and pounding on Dean calmly, frightened by the reaction of the other, who intensified the hunter’s gaze towards the figure in the front.

«I no longer have my powers», Castiel continued, accepting the silent offering of the hunter. The voice drowned in shame.

«So what?» said Dean, a serious look as he stared at Castiel’s blue eyes, marked by insecurity for the new situation.

Castiel breathed a sigh, accompanied by an expression of indignation and stared back at Dean, finding the umpteenth severe and decisive look on his face. He was not being ironic. Castiel’s expression faltered, before disappearing altogether.

Dean let his gaze turn to the other side of the road and with a nod of his head pointed to the vehicle parked.

Castiel nodded and advanced towards the car, opening the door and sitting on the passengers’ seat.

Dean’s door closed with a thump and, turning the keys in the slot, entered the car, filling the air with a rumble.

Before grabbing the steering wheel, he turned one last time to glare at Castiel, who was looking out of the car’s window towards the field where Dean had found him.

«I’m sorry» said Dean and waited for him to turn around to continue talking «I really mean it» and was met with the uncertain face of the man next to him.

He shrugged his shoulders before adding: «Your powers neverreally defined you, Cas»

He sought Castiel’s gaze among the thoughts that drowned his face.

«Yes, you had wings and powers and all that...» he said, gesturing.

«But only because you are no longer one of the Lord’s giant pigeons up there» he added again, and smiled when he gained some attention from the other. «That doesn’t mean you’re less worthy or... all that crap»

Castiel mentioned a small thankful nod and looked at the windshield in front of him when the hunter looked away and put his hands on the steering wheel, setting his foot on the accelerator.

Memories of the night blurred with the surrounding darkness and rushed at the speed of the vehicle. Castiel hopes that Dean will just drive a little faster in order to escape from those empty feelings that were trying so hard to reach him, and that they will stay behind.

He had been human for too little time to know that emotions from within never leave the human soul really, no matter how fast you try to escape them.


	2. 2.

Dean’s voice warmed the church from its cold atmosphere, while the smell of incense penetrated the nostrils of the man who, kneeling, prayed to be heard by those same beings in which he had never really believed.   
The grimace of initial outrage caused by the rarity with which such a thing happened, dissolved when the purpose of those same call was revealed again in Dean’s mind. 

Sam had gotten worse. 

This had been reported to him by the doctors a few hours after his return to the hospital, comparing the parameters with confusion while those that shortly before had been positive, now led to an idea of the boy asleep on the bed in a mortal condition.   
This did not surprise the hunter. As strong as his brother was, it was inevitable that those last weeks would, sooner or later, pour into his physique. He tightened his jaw, hard. He had to be the one on the hospital bed, the one who would have had to face the tasks and finally close the gates of Hell. And instead that black, thick blood had been poured on the youngest’ s face and while the corpse of the Hellhound had fallen with a groan on his chest, Dean had felt himself sinking in that same way. 

He tightened the hands, joining them and wondered how he should be praying, what exactly he should say, if there was any special formula that would ensure their arrival. The sweet notes of an organ beside the altar resounded in the atmosphere and the hunter felt carried away by the sounds it emitted. 

  
The memory of the last time he had really prayed came into his mind. He saw his childish face, tears on his cheeks, his tiny body trembling when he had seen boys of his own age playing at school with a lighter. And the colour of the flame had poured on his face, the tremor of it in contact with the air. The hot flashes resulting from it were too much to be provoked exclusively by the tool that the two children were holding jealously. He had seen his mother, had heard her cries in the redness around her. He had felt his legs crumble, as he had held his younger brother to his chest and had walked out of the house amid his father’s lost laments. And, plunged into memory, he had locked himself in the toilets of the institute, breathing frantically as he tried to calm that crescendo of _Thump Thump Thump_ of his heart. And with that one noise accompanying his thoughts, Dean’s body had sunk on the floor and had started to pray. To pray that whoever was up there, high in the sky, would bring his mother back to life.

He forcibly kicked out the memory from his mind, focusing on the icons within the structure, the paintings on the vault. He felt a strongly localized pressure on his knees, where they adhered with the benches on which he had bowed to beg.   
With all the fortitude he had, he prayed to the fallen angels, hoping that some of them had at least preserved a meagre portion of their powers. Castiel, upon arriving at the hospital, had rushed over Sam’s body and had placed two fingers on his forehead before dropping them along his sides and had turned towards Dean, standing at the threshold of the door, with a distressed look. No words were needed, he had understood. 

And now Dean was reduced to having his hands together, his fingers quivering.

Dean reluctantly left the church, his eyes drenched in tears that he did not know he had produced, while he dragged along the corridor with heavy steps.

He opened the door leading to the room where Sam had been placed. A slight bitterness was painted on his face when the same situation he had gotten himself out of , minutes before, had presented equally now. 

Sam was lying on the hospital bed with his eyes closed; the drip that flowed on his body led to a device not far from him. His hair was running down the neck, way too long. Dean thought that when he would wake up he’d cut it off. Attacking his thoughts with violence a grimace crossed his face, for a moment, when the possibility that his brother would never actually awake ran into him.  
Castiel, on the chair next to the bed, observed Sam breathing deeply. Dean wondered if the ex-angel believed that that look could have any healing effect on him.   
He sighed and leaned the back against the wall, letting the silence fill that void that he felt in the middle of his chest.

However, soon after, a growl he knew all too well caught his attention. Castiel lowered his head downwards, tilting it as he often did, and looked at his stomach with confusion.   
Dean squeezed out a little smile, «Hungry?» he asked. He had not realized until that moment that Castiel, human by only a matter of hours, hadn’t put anything in his stomach yet. He certainly must have been hungry.  
He watched as the other opened his mouth slightly and closed it immediately afterwards, shaking his head in denial.  
«Cas, there’s a little bar across the street. Grab something» replied Dean with his eyes still closed, his mind focused on his brother’s body a few steps away from his own.  
He shook his head again «No. Sam is sick, I have to stay here. And I’m not hungry anyways» he concluded, ignoring the rumble of his stomach. The hunter felt the warmth of Castiel’s gaze upon him and his serious, calm voice with which he was about to continue talking.   
«In extreme circumstances, human beings can last up to fourteen days without ingesting any kind of food, including liquids. I have no need to eat anything at the moment»  
Dean opened his eyes and looked at him, hiding a laugh at the scientific nonsense with which Castiel had just spoken and, beckoning the door of the room, implicitly asked him to go get something to eat. Castiel’s face followed, with his forehead slightly turned to keep Sam under observation. «Castiel» he said, shooting a glance to the ceiling for his friend’s stubbornness. «Go. I appreciate that you care about him, but I don’t really want to have to look after you too» 

The hunter sighed relieved when he heard the closing of a door behind him. He felt the burning of his tired eyes, his bones sore from the fatigue and restlessness of the last few weeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept peacefully.   
He fell into a state of unconsciousness for a moment, before being brought back to reality by the incessant ringing of his own cell phone. He looked at it, intrigued when on that appeared the name of the one who, only a few moments before, had left the hospital room and had headed towards the outside of the building.

«Dean, what does peanut butter taste like?» Castiel asked from the other phone line. The hunter snorted amused and put an hand on his face, before gesturing with it, although he was aware that Castiel could not see him. «Of...peanuts? What else could it taste like?» said uncertain, giving a quick look at the brother’s parameters and the constant rhythm of the lines drawn on the screen.   
The pause created after the answer was interrupted again by Castiel’s voice «And what is… almond milk?» Dean could imagine the inclined head of the other, reading the menu with his eyes thinned.  
He frowned «You must take something to eat, not to drink»   
Another break.  
«And what-» Dean raised his eyes to the sky again and suspended the voice of the other by overpowering it with his own «Wait, I'm on my way» 

  
The little restaurant was the same as the thousand others where Sam and Dean took refuge between an investigation and another. The smell of sandwiches intoxicated the hunter’s nostrils. He had not realized how hungry he really was.   
He admired the cheeseburger in front of him, shuffling the accompanying salad with a wince, and, sinking his teeth into the sandwich, he moaned happily when the taste of bacon and melted cheese met his palate. Castiel, in front of him, held the peanut butter sandwich in his hands, analyzing it.  
Dean shuddered a laugh at the sight and urged him to take a bite of it.   
The face of the 'ex-angel muted expression tasting the dish and smiled, satisfied that it no longer tasted of just molecules. He could feel the sticky substance in his mouth, the grape jelly that accompanied it and that mixture of flavours he never thought he would really have the chance to try.  
«Good, huh?» commented Dean, raising his eyebrows. Castiel nodded against the sandwich, taking another bite.  
«See?» said Dean pointing to the two dishes «At the end there’s something very positive about being humans»  
Castiel nodded, focused «There are many positive things» He said then, the look lost in the club, before returning to the face of the hunter. Dean looked at him for a few moments before glancing back down   
«For example?» he ventured.  
Castiel shifted his weight on the bench where he was sitting and, without speaking, pointed to everything around him with a wide and slightly confused gesture. The expression of a child who sees things for the first time and fails to decipher which of these he likes the most because they all contain something that attracts them differently from the other.   
«Meraviglioso» _Wonderful._ commented Dean, biting a french fry. 

«What?» 

«It’s an Italian song» Dean said carelessly while chewing «My mom used to sing it to me when I was little», he added, swallowing..  
Castiel smiled, although he did not understand what Dean was referring to exactly and that, meeting the curious look of the man in front of him, continued.  
«It speaks of a man who is about to commit suicide and of a passer-by who saves him by showing him how wonderful, meraviglioso the world we live in is, in all its aspects» said, pretending to be disinterested, not raising his eyes to the man «Made me think of you» he simply concluded, shrugging.   
Castiel, with his big eyes illuminated by surprise, looked at the hunter in front of him, studying him with an inquiring look before saying: «Because I saved you from Hell?». The sandwich now abandoned in the plate below.  
The older Winchester felt a redness rising to his neck and moved on the spot, shifting the weight from leg to leg, trying to dissolve the heat that was melting his body «I was referring to the fact that you seem to look at every little thing as if it were beautiful»   
He cleared his voice, finally raising his eyes to the other «But, umm yeah. That too I guess»  
Castiel smiled softly and looked at Dean for a few seconds.   
Yellow.

Another handful seconds passed before Castiel rested his eyes on the plate in front of him, taking the sandwich in his hands and biting it again. The hunter observed him, taking note of how Castiel’s eyes were even bluer for the light in the premise. The flush, now on Dean’s cheeks, dared not to dissolve.

  
When they returned to the hospital room, Dean’s hand was quick to pick up the weapon in his trousers pocket and point it at the tall man who was standing beside his brother.

«Who are you?» The harsh voice did not show concern, as it approached dangerously the unknown. 

«Ezekiel?» asked Castiel, coming closer to the stranger and receiving a confused look from Dean, who, in the meantime, was looking at the two, disoriented. He tightened the grip around the gun.

«Brother» The hunter, who had deduced from the comment that the one next to his brother was an angel, relaxed, holding , however, the weapon stationary in mid-air. 

A few hours later, Dean sat down against the chair, taking his head in his hands.

He had brought an angel into his brother’s body, deceiving Sam into his own mind in a near-death experience. God, what had he been thinking?

When Ezekiel had tried to cure Sam and had not succeeded, Dean had already mentally scanned the actions he was meant to do in order to summon a demon and sell his soul, before an idea of the angel flashed into the room.   
Dean initially refused. He couldn’t do this to Sam. It was ridiculous. 

But then, encountering Sam’s face, wrapped in a sleep from which perhaps he probably would never wake up from , he had made his decision.

Castiel had remained on the sidelines, thinking about the possible dangers and positive effects, and when Dean’s gaze had engaged with his, seeking approval, he had let him out of the room and had told him the potential risks Sam was running.

Dean had clenched his teeth and had swallowed the knot that had formed in his stomach. Castiel’s voice, which reminded the hunter of the danger of such a decision, flashed in his mind with force, but Dean had no choice. He could not let his brother die. 

Everything they did involved risks. This would be just one of the many. Surely there were alternatives, but until then they had not presented and what should he had to do if not using the only chance of life that Sam had?

He had clenched his hands in fists, letting his short nails thrust in the skin, while he had nodded toward the angel, approving the plan devised, and had closed his eyes when a blue light had flooded the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italian song I refer to is called "Meraviglioso" by Negramaro if anyone's interested :))) and also about being able to live almost 2 weeks without having to eat/drink, I have read this thing on internet and it is said to be possibile but under EXTREME times but idk if that’s true and pls don’t you dare try lmao


	3. 3.

Curled up over himself, Sam was sleeping on the front seat of the Impala, his forehead sweaty as his body laid so motionless that it seemed as his heart had nothing left to beat for.   
Dean quickly threw a glance at his brother, sitting beside him, before looking back at the road and sigh deeply. It felt as if a continuous echo was informing him of the critical situation he was in and it did not matter how many times the older had tried to drive away the thought from his mind: that had returned with more violence than the previous time.  
Castiel, who had positioned himself between the rear seats voluntarily, hoping that seeing Sam next to Dean would make the hunter feel relieved, was silent.  
Having crossed Castiel’s gaze, through the rearview mirror, Dean began to speak, clearing his voice  
«Do you think he’ll be fine?»  
Castiel perceived the bitter note of hope in Dean’s voice and reasoned about the question he was asked.   
He did not know, if he had to be sincere. Dean’s move had been quite daring: he knew the angel that now was living inside Sam’s body, but nevertheless performing such an action inevitably involved enormous risks. Many things had the high probability of going wrong and Sam could have simply fall back into the dark vortex that was the near-death experience.  
But there, in the car with Dean and Sam asleep by his side, with the atmosphere filled by a good-natured tension, by the vivid hope that for once things would go the right way, Castiel did not dare to dismantle Dean’s beliefs. On the other hand, if it was true that he could not really know how effectively the intromission would be, he could not even be certain of the opposite.   
He was on the verge of uncertainty, just like Dean, but nothing prevented him from maintaining that timid expectation they were both breathing.  
«He will recover» he said, looking at the front seat to get to see Sam’s face, hoping it with all his heart.

Dean was looking closely at his brother’s face when he moved indistinctly on the bed where he had been lying, corrupting his forehead.  
«Sam?» called Dean, seeing his younger brother wake up from that state of unconsciousness to which he had been forced in the last hours.  
His pupils, however, dilated, revealing a blue light that Dean knew to be the expression of the angelic grace.   
The smile born shortly before on his lips faded in the sight and uncertainty and confusion framed his face.  
The body of the man in front of him rose from the bed on which he had been placed, sitting down, and the mouth opened, revealing a monotonous voice  
«I wanted to warn you that your brother’s body has accepted my interference and I am working to heal his internal wounds» he said, all in one breath. The mechanical voice reminiscent of an old computer.

Dean, the face reduced to an angry and disconcerted grimace, analyzed the words of the other with care and before he was able to formulate something , anything to say back, he was again interrupted  
«Sam will not remember the times in which I will talk directly to you through his body » And closing his eyes, the man’s eyelids opened again, showing the frightened and distressed look of his younger brother.  
He, who had kept his eyes down, got up to meet Dean’s ones whom, shocked by what had just happened, wrapped his brother in a hug to hide his troubled expression.  
The older of the two put an hand on his face, upset, and plunged into that embrace with a harsh and loud sigh of relief. Sam’s arms squeezed Dean’s body before he pulled back with a little smile, hiding only partially his profound concern

«How do you feel?» he asked, looking at his brother. His eyes appeared tired and dismayed by obvious dark circles and Dean could see small capillaries in the orbits marked with greater redness.   
Sam nodded with a grimace on his face« Strangely well...» he said uncertain, looking around and recognizing the white walls of his room.   
Then, turning, he saw the figure of what he still believed to be an angel and the other greeted him from afar with a little wave of his hand, before approaching.

  
The humidity struck the walls of the room, leaving a smell of closed air with force. Crowley, at the end of this, sitting in a chair, looked at the men that had walked in with a smile.  
It was Sam’s idea to go down to the room where he was locked up. Dean, on the contrary, had told him that there was no way he would go down and talk with the demon , that he would have to rest, take a shower and drain the tension in another way instead of meeting as first thing, the king of Hell.   
The younger had assured him that he was feeling well and had went down to the lower room, with Dean, Castiel and Kevin at his side.

Dean kept the prophet behind him with one hand, not missing any move Sam wwas going to do as he approached the demon . «Moose!» said Crowley, greeting Sam, followed shortly after by Castiel «Oh!» he exclaimed, raising, surprised his eyebrows «You brought your pet angel too ... then it must be something serious» 

And as Sam opened his mouth to speak, he was interruptedagain by Crowley’s voice and the way in which he had tilted his head forward, impressed, looking at the figure of Castiel  
«No» he said to highlight what he had noticed, while smiling maliciously  
«You are no longer a feathered » he said with a grimace and when he met Castiel’s thin gaze, studying him with a grin he continued «I cannot longer see even a small trace of grace in your body» he concluded, scrutinizing the vessel in detail.  
Castiel did not speak, tightening his jaw, while letting Sam be the first to question him   
«How do we stop a knight of Hell?» he asked hence, with a hostile voice. 

Dean looked at the way he talked, how he moved the body so firmly to talk to the demon.  
He thought about how proud he was of his little brother, how he had grew up over the years, and of how he just couldn’t have let him die in that hospital bed. He sighed.  
Crowley shifted his gaze from Castiel to Sam before returning to the ex- angel.  
«And tell me, how does it feel to be powerless, Castiel?» asked Crowley, completely ignoring the question previously asked.  
«Enough» Dean said, approaching the trio that had not yet concluded anything. «Crowley shut your fucking mouth, stopping Abaddon is something we need to do as much as you » he continued and waited for Crowley’s eyes to focus on his own before speaking again   
«Do you think you can get me to talk, Dean?» he asked then  
«Oh...me? no» said Dean with the hint of a smile «But I’m sure you’ll have a nice little chat with Kevin» he concluded, watching the boy just behind him quivering for the only chance to touch the being who had taken everything away from him.

Having told Kevin not to get too influenced by what had recently happened and, indeed, focus on the mission that was now critical, Dean, Sam and Castiel exited the room.   
It was a task that everyone had to face, but they knew Kevin actually needed it.

Dean was on his bed when a lit light passed through the otherwise dark room.  
He frowned and looked at the alarm clock by the bed. Having established that it was not yet morning and that it was at least strange that there was someone still awake, he took the blade resting on the bedside table, coming down cautiously from the bed and wondered if it might be the angel inside Sam’s body.   
He opened the door forcefully and closed his eyes for a few moments, vulnerable to the sudden contact with the warm light that flooded the bunker.  
Dean held the knife high, as he sailed around the room in search of noises, of any shadow that could might caught his attention. The room silent with the exception of the heart beating hard in his rib cage. The jaw hardened as the hunter turned the corner with a rapid movement.

His face contracted in an even more confused expression as the shoulders relaxed, noting that the man next to the front door was Castiel.  
«Cas?» called Dean with the voice tinged with a note of uncertainty. What was he doing, standing there in the middle of the night?  
The former angel turned around and glanced at Dean’s face with a disoriented and slightly annoyed expression.  
Dean approached «Where are you going?» he asked in a peremptory tone. Castiel looked around, before he laid his eyes again on Dean. A few seconds of silence followed.  
«I.. I’m leaving, Dean», he said, quietly moving the body in the direction of the other.   
The hunter frowned and crossed his arms, and with a small movement of the head urged Castiel to continue  
«The angels are after me»  
«Sure», Dean said sarcastically «And so you voluntarily decide to leave here and go meet 'em, don’t you?» 

«Dean is not..» But the voice of the other overpowered his own «No no, I think it’s fair . In fact, I’m going to look for a bright sign, so that we can make sure they will have no trouble at all in finding you» he continued, frowning.  
The blue eyes stopped in his', watching him and trying to be heard by the other. Dean shook his head, turning to the side.  
«I can’t stay here»  
«Why?»  
Castiel looked for some nuance in his gaze that he could use to confirm the speech he was having so much difficulty in carrying on, but not finding it, he tried to instill it in the eyes of the other  
«Dean, I have made the angels fall and it is my job to solve what I have done» growled, angry.  
«We both know it was Metatron’s fault »   
«Yes, but I helped him»   
«You thought you were doing the right thing» Dean clarified.   
And it was true. Castiel really believed he was on the right path. To finally be able to redeem past mistakes, to save humanity. And instead he had failed. Again  
«Well, they don’t care» Castiel said angrily referring to the angels. He had heard through the radio that his brothers and sisters were looking for him. Staying in the bunker would have been too dangerous.  
«I do » said Dean, the tone of his voice still rude despite the words coming out of his mouth.  
Castiel now brought his eyes back on him, attentive, without daring to talk..  
Green.  
«Cas», said Dean, and let that name hover in the air for a while before continuing «Surely you are more involved than you would like to in this story and it is true.. it is also your task to solve it»  
Castiel looked down. How could he had been so stupid? How could he have blindly trusted Metatron?   
He would have had to learn from his past mistakes, and instead, when he believed he was finally out of the web of deception, he had fallen again and more violently than before.   
«But» he added «this does not mean that you have to leave, in the middle of the night without saying anything to anyone»  
«I can’t stay here, Dean. I’d put you and Sam in danger »  
Said Castiel, with shame and anger colouring his face.  
«We are always in danger» Dean promptly replied, observing the man in front of him and the blue eyes that were struggling to sustain his gaze.   
«It’s useless for me to remain here Dean» The hunter continued to observe him, without uttering a word, letting him continue.  
«I’ve always liked humanity, really and I’m getting used to being a human» Silence «But I miss my wings, I no longer have my grace, everything I knew so far has been lost. Everything I was until now has been lost and the mere thought of confronting me with the angels terrifies me, but it is what I must do»   
«Castiel» called Dean and a strange sensation moved into the hunter’s chest when the blue eyes held his own . Coughing, he cleared his voice   
«Being an angel wasn’t what made you what you are now, okay? Now stop this victimizing bullshit»   
Castiel frowned his eyebrows, stiffening strongly on the spot and hissed, annoyed: «I’m not acting out. I’m telling you that I-»   
«I get it, Cas. And I’m asking you to stay»

And it was when the blue met the green for the umpteenth time, when Dean’s face did not divert that worried and angry grimace he so often used to have, when his chest got up and down quickly, and his lips were slightly-parted that Castiel calmed down, cradled by the other’s presence.


	4. 4

The passing of the last few weeks had marked the faces of the men seated inside the Impala which ran along the road, illuminated by occasional streetlights in the darkness of the night.

The cold wind caressed the car’s interior, causing a shiver to the older Winchester, who reached the button to close the car’s windows.

Having to kill Abaddon hovered over his head like an anvil: Crowley had told them, spurred on by Kevin, that there was need of the so-called "First Blade" and in the last few days they had not had good results.

It looked like it belonged to a demon, but they still had nothing within their hands they could really investigate into.

When they returned to the bunker, to ask for more information from the king of Hell, they had found out that he had been severely tortured by Kevin. None of them had dared to comment on what had happened.

Even more, the case they were facing was more intricate than usual.

In the house where the two victims were found, there was a tense atmosphere while the husband of the first victim had explained to the three police officers what happened during the week.

His wife and their eight-year-old daughter had died in the night, when the man was already asleep.

He had sworn that he had heard no noise, and when he had opened his eyes in the morning, a strong metallic smell had intoxicated his nostrils and he had seen, on the bed beside him, the dead woman in a huge pool of blood, in the same position she had previously fell asleep in.

The liquid had coloured his trembling hands, spontaneously turned to the body of the victim in a desperate gesture.

The scream which he had subsequently heard crossing his vocal chords with vehemence was followed by heavy steps on the floor, in search of his daughter; when she too had been found slain, the terror in the adult’s eyes had poured into bitter tears.

Sam had moved the weight on the chair, visibly disturbed by what he had heard and, expressing his condolences, had begun to ask the usual routine questions to try to understand if something had previously caught the man's attention. 

But when he had responded negatively to those, while maintaining, however, a palpable nervousness while declaring them, the younger brother had risen, inspecting some corners of the house not too far from where the man actually stood, so that he could control Castiel, left to interrogate the man, without the fear that he would ask any questions that would result too strange.

The local police had already explored the memories of that man, looking for irrefutable evidence to frame him, as the dynamics of accidents led to the 'only witness present at the murders: him.

Dean, under the guise of having to use the bathroom, had penetrated the depths of the house, looking for some clue that could turn out useful. 

By checking the house, he had later found out , by checking the thermostat, that around the hypothetical time when the two women had been killed in their own home, the temperature had dropped a couple of degrees.

Sam and Castiel had then interviewed the neighbours to see if they had heard any strange noise in the last few days and had analyzed the latest police investigations.

The housekeeper, who they had questioned later that afternoon, had told them that she had heard strange presences in the house in the days leading up to the double murder. And yet it seemed that these had now completely disappeared.

«Dean» Sam’s voice came petulant from the back seats, aggravating the hunter’s name and awakening him from his own thoughts «It’s the fourth time we have listened to this song. Change it»

Dean peered at his brother through the rearview mirror before responding with a grin that "No talking. Driver chooses music"

Sam snorted loudly, adjusting to the seats.

He took a moment to observe him, thanking the straight road in front of him and the possibility of being able to concentrate on his brother sitting between the rear seats, noting which of the two personalities inside his body was having the best in that moment.

Often, in fact, his eyes were pervaded by a beam of light and the 'angel inside the body spoke making Dean’s heart , more than once, lose a beat, hearing the dark voice of that, and making him almost crash the car they were driving in.

«This rule would speak some sense if it wasn’t you always driving»

«This statement would make sense if you were always forced to point out everything. You’re not in a freakin' courthouse » answered Dean in the same accusatory tone his brother had used

«And whose fault is it?» he replied, snorting irritated and amused at the same time.

«What are you -»

«Dean! Sam!» Castiel suddenly exhaled and an embarrassed silence fell for a few moments in the car, the only noise present the one of the wheels whizzing on the asphalt and the song, which had not yet been changed, as background.

The rain fell gently on the ground.

«And anyway-» the older started again before being interrupted by Castiel

«Dean, change the song» he said, thinning his gaze towards the hunter

«What?» Dean said annoyed, letting the road in front of them be ignored for a few seconds while looking for the other’s face. He raised a hand in the air, to emphasize his words «Whose side are you on?»

Castiel deeply breathed in, «I’m not siding with anyone, Dean. I’m just asking you to change the song» he continued in a firm voice.

Dean looked at him for a few moments and let the expression that had dismayed his face until then fade slightly.

Turning to the road, he laid a finger on the car stereo, stopped the record and set the speakers on the radio. After all, they had heard it several times and any other song of the same had already been broadcast, so he opted to let the music be decided randomly.

Sam squinted his eyes at the gesture «Ridiculous » he said, raising his hands to the sky before he threw himself backwards on the seat.

He had removed the song because they had already listened to it and it was dark so it would be better to put something that did not involve him too much. This was said what Dean mentally said , while Sam’s words swayed persuasively in the car.

The noise of the radio filled the closed space, transmitting new and dated songs of various kinds and was soon accompanied by a slight snore coming from the rear seats.

Dean glanced amused when he recognized the sound «Typical Sam» he said, rolling his eyes «He bitches loads and then falls asleep»

Castiel smiled, equally amused.

Dean looked at him briefly before starting to talk again, tightening his jaw «Do you think he sleeps much these days beacause of the angel thingy ?»

Castiel looked at the man who was sleeping behind them «It’s likely» he answered «He has more energy in his body than usual»

Dean just nodded, gritting his teeth.

He was just hoping this situation would work out for the best.

He now communicated with the angel inside Sam’s body at least once or twice a week and hated knowing that that being was inside his brother.

He was flooded by the light of the lampposts and by that coming from the segment to which the moon was reduced, letting these guide him in steering the wheel. Then, quietly, he abandoned the song broadcast on the radio, trying to free his mind from a paranoia which did not dare to stop

That slow pace matched well the atmosphere created, he had to admit. Not that he would ever say that out loud.

_I need your grace_

_To remind me_

_To find my own_

The words resonated in the car, joining the sound of drops landing on the windows and Dean could not help but raise his ears when the male voice had spoken the term "grace”.

He looked at Castiel beside him, turned to the outside world. He seemed accustomed to being a human, but it still was evident that he missed his divine nature.

_If I lay here_

He observed his dark hair crushed on the top of the backrest and the external light that painted his face.

_If I just lay here_

Acknowledging the hunter’s gaze on his face, Castiel turned and looked at him for seconds that seemed an enternity.

_Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

Dean’s cheeks tingled as he heard the newly sung phrases and frowned his eyebrows,embarrassed, quickly looking away from Castiel. He tightened his hands on the wheel.

_Forget what we’re told_

_Before we get too old_

_Show me a garden that’s bursting into life_

Damn radio. Damn Sam. Damn stupid girly song.

_All that I am_

_All that I ever was_

_Is here in your perfect eyes, they’re all I can see_

And, pervaded by the lyrics of the song, he inevitably thought of Castiel with his big, blue eyes in which Dean was convinced he could drown. To that face that often stared at him, making him feel so vulnerable because there was something in that look, in those eyes that Dean knew he didn’t deserve.

And he knew, in spite of everything, that those eyes belonged to Castiel. There was no Jimmy Novak, there was no intermediary of what was no longer an angel. Castiel’s essence passed through the other's gaze and infused into Dean’s body with gentleness and determination.

That reverence, that devotion, that warmth that shined within the eyes were the pure evidence of the angelic soul within him. And that made him feel helpless and small compared to the sky that that look transmitted.

_I don’t know where_

_Confused about how as well_

Yet there was something in that image that made him feel so secure.

As if all the evil in the world that he had faced so many times could not hurt him anymore.

That feeling, that aura of protection that was hidden inside was something that he had only found in the first years of his life. And he had taken refuge in it sometimes, while Sam was asleep, and, after the umpteenth resolved case, when everything was okay and he could abandon himself without too much guilt. And it was rare.

But now those same emotions were there and were looking down at him.

_Just know that these things will never change for us at all_

Castiel’s gaze had never abandoned the face of Dean who, on the contrary, kept his gaze fixed on the road as he had never done before.

_If I lay here-_

The voice was suddenly interrupted by Dean who promptly turned off the radio.

The few moments of silence that followed fueled only the darkness in the hunter’s face.

«I liked the song» simply said Castiel, the voice not sprinkled by any inclination.

Dean looked at him with the corner of his eye and sighed. " Me too. I liked the song too , Cas"

«Well, if that’s so next time you and Sam go get a nice car and hear all the boring songs you want » he said annoyed, stumbling on his own words.

Castiel did not blink then and even when Dean restarted the disc previously inserted, awakening, with the loud sound that was transmitted to the car speakers, the younger brother who, annoyed, opened his mouth to rant against him but was promptly silenced with a «Not a word, Sam»

The noise had never been so loud.

Blood gushed from Castiel’s skin in gushes, wetting the floor beneath him to traces of the conflict he had lost.

He had felt a presence behind him while he was in charge of finding the angels, letting the brothers take care of the case. The force had been unleashed behind him and as much as the flickering in his limbs had made him realize that it was a danger, his body had naturally responded to that essence that he now lacked.

As a result of his prayer, Muriel, in fact, had presented himself before him and while, she had started explaining what the situation was like in heaven and the factions that were being created for the lack of authority, the servants of Malachia had appeared.

Then, the darkness.

A blade crossed his body, drawing the wounds from which the angelic grace no longer came out, missing, but only red liquid that dripped on Castiel’s shirt.

«Speak» threatened Malachia, tracing strips of pain on the body of the imprisoned.

«I told you» growled Castiel between his tight lips «I have no idea how to overthrow the spell»

«Bullshit» yelled Malachia brandishing with the same force the blade that now fell on the chest.

«We know you work with Metadron, Castiel», he said, his eyes illuminated by controlled madness.

He wounded his body again and while a puddle colored the white fabric, Castiel moaned with pain.

He could feel his body failing, while a piercing pain was pouring through his remains.

He breathed, hard. «You’re just a murderer» he exhaled with contempt.

Malachia sneered, retracting from his body, before coming closer and hitting it with more force than those preceding the shoulder of Castiel, which released a grunt of pain. 

«Am I the murderer here, Castiel?» The blade now ran through his neck, his jaw, without actually touching the skin

«What about the angels you destroyed in heaven?» he continued, looking into his eyes with determination «Not to mention the fallen ones» he added with a 'tsk, tsk ' to highlight his words.

Castiel did not lower his gaze then and not even when for the hundred time silver drew his body.

He sustained the gaze of the anarchist who stood in front of him, despite the grey that was infusing in his heart.

He was partly to blame, and felt terribly responsible for what had happened, and had recognized how stupid he was for letting Metadron fool him like that. This, however, was not the right time to let that sink in.

He wondered if it would always be like this, if he would always make bad decisions.

Malachia grinned at him with bravado, before nodding his head to the other angel present and leaving the room where Castiel had been locked up.

Castiel exhaled a gasp of pain, as he watched the other approach him.

That came closer cautiously, looking at the body and the battered face and stared at him for a few moments, before taking a quick look at the door. 

«I know you’re collaborating with Metatron, Castiel», he said, waiting for an answer from the other that never came.

«I was a fool to ally myself with Malachia», he whispered, while his hands dealt with the straps that kept Castiel constrained who, noticing the 'attitude of the other, confused, spoke through damaged lungs «What?»

«Malachia is a fool, Castiel» he murmured, unhooking the first chain «I should never have been his ally» he repeated , working with the handcuffs «But you» he said, hopeful «You work with Metatron»

Castiel did not dare to respond, but continued to watch him cautiously as he felt the handcuffs loosing pressure on his wrists.

«I will free you, Castiel», said Malachia’s right-hand man, nodding to himself and encountering the inquisitive and cold gaze of the other. «And you will convince Metatron. Ask him to take me back to heaven» he concluded, waiting for the other to nod to unhook the last strap.

Castiel continued to scrutinize him, inquisitorial and that below him yielded, freeing him from the torture to which the former angel had been forced in the last hours.

Castiel spoke as the other cautiously walked away to give him space. He touched his wrists where the handcuffs had marked their signs and felt the pain that was spreading on his body.

«You will have to do something for me» he said, slowly, looking for something behind him that the other could not have seen given his position.

«Whatever you want, Castiel» that promptly answered, urgent to be able to return to his place of belonging and to stop working alongside his boss.

Castiel lapped the blade on the counter and with a quick movement of the hand, sank the latter into the angel's body.

The eyes of that dilated, surprised, as he groaned in search of air. The blue essence shook in his eyes and a yellow light lit the vessel before grace came out of the one that was fading out of his life and Castiel, having opened his mouth, absorbed it.

He felt the power of grace spreading within his body, filling it as if it had been empty until now and perceived the pain disappear, while the blue light branched within him, healing him of all the wounds previously created. He floundered, exhausted, and glanced at the lifeless body beneath him.

He had just killed his own brother, his own kind, someone who had trusted him.

A vise squeezed his chest and with the blade tightened around his hand, he came out of the small dark room.

Dean’s cell phone rang on the table and did not wait for more than two rings to attract the hunter’s attention, taking it from the pocket urgently «Castiel!» He said angry on the other end of the phone, «Where are you?» he continued, feeling the stable breath of the other. «You can’t just disappear. Leave a fucking message next time or-»

«I have my grace back , Dean» said Castiel, finally, smiling and letting the screams of the other gradually diminish

v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song is called "chasing cars" by snow patrols


	5. 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii! just wanted to say I won’t post for a few days because I won’t be home but as soon as I’ll get back I will upload. So please stick around I won’t disappearrrrr  
> also this chapter is a bit longer and more introspective than the others, hope it doesn’t bother

The flame lit Dean’s face as the prophet’s body burned before them. 

The eyes fixed on the pile of wood used for the fire, while the mouth, tight in a hard line, trembled subconsciously for what had happened. 

When he had reached him, Castiel had told him that he had become aware that the angel who was in Sam’s body could only be an intruder, as Ezekiel had died during the fall.

They had, therefore, entered the bunker with heavy footsteps, in search of the younger brother with fear and desperate anguish digging deep furrows in their bowels; and when Dean had found Kevin’s body lying on the ground, lifeless, with two pools in place of the eyes, his knees had surrendered.

He knew a a part of himself had always knew that it would end this way. 

And he had turned it off, suppressed, hidden;

He had gagged that voice in his mind that reminded him that all the people he had approached in the past now had wounds that even time couldn’t heal.

Because he needed Kevin’s help.

Because Kevin was part of the family. 

He had lowered his forehead and squeezed his hands in hard fists, piercing his nails into the skin.

  
Castiel, beside him, was now silent.

Dean’s gaze never dared to rise from the boy’s burned body, and even when that shrunk to black ashes, and the bandages in which he had been shrouded burned with him, Dean kept the same gaze, focused and furious, erasing the tears on his face with the back of his hand. 

When they got in the car to get back to the bunker and find out where the angel Sam was possessed of was now, Castiel feared that a piece of Dean’s heart had remained there with Kevin.

Crowley observed the two boys at the edge of the door with curiosity, while they privately discussed what to report and not report to the king of Hell.

And when he discovered that a corpse had been burned by the older Winchester and by what he could now perceive as a freshly-returned angel, he moved imperceptibly onto the chair. 

He let his gaze falter through the walls of the place where he had been locked up, before settling into Dean’s one. 

«I told him» he commented, light-mindedly, with a smile in his voice «I told him how he would have ended up by working with the Winchesters» 

Dean stiffened on the spot, his jaw clenched in a hard vice. 

« Turns out I was not wrong»

The shadow of tears still crossed his tired face.

« Just as I had planned... used for your purposes and then left to die» he spit, with contempt.

Castiel stopped Dean right away, allowing his body to be behind his, for fear that he could have might attacked the other.

Dean’s hand squeezed in a fist; the anger that boiled inside him.

«That’s rich coming from you » Castiel commented, recalling that Crowley’s appointment was, in fact, that of the "King of Crossroads".

Every covenant, every decision that any human had ever made with him, although it had been primarily chosen under free will, had been placed exclusively with the last prospect of death at the end of a whirlwind dark tunnel of desires. 

The hunter advanced, now dangerously close to Crowley, who watched him with a grin.

«I will help you» 

Finally, he responded to the proposal, made to him shortly before, of finding Sam and expel the angel from his body, with a smile that lightened his face for the evident anger and discouragement that was crossing the hunter.

«But when the task is done, you must free me»

Dean instantly moved with his eyes fixed on the demon’s. 

«Mustn’t have understood who makes the rules here, Crowley. When I’m done with all this angel and knight crap, you’re next» 

The king of hell watched him; a mocking laughter escaping his lips. 

«Oh! So it’s a date,» he commented, «Just let me know when, Dean. You know, I’m very busy.» 

Seeing Dean’s rigid, cold and unamused expression, he continued puffing.

«Such a killjoy. But either way I’m the only one here who knows how to help moose out . If you boys want me to help you, you’ll have to follow  my  rules» 

«You’re lucky enough you weren’t left to rot here for all eternity yet. We could walk out of this room and throw away the key. You know we’d still find an alternative way to save Sam» replied Castiel, frowning.

«And how?» asked then Crowley, tilting his face and raising his voice in a dash of derisory wrath « With one of your brilliant ideas, you flying monkey?» 

With the same expression and firm voice as always Castiel, without missing a beat: «Perhaps my brilliant ideas have not led me far, Crowley, but as you can see, you are the one tied to a chair, not me» 

Dean hinted a dead grin next to him in hearing the answers Castiel readily provided to the other

The way his jaw tightened, the coat that followed with him as he moved on the spot, the light of his eyes becoming more and more vivid and confident than it already was, the dry mouth. 

Dean subconsciously licked his lips.

If finding the angel until now had been difficult, what awaited the Winchester was far worse. 

Sam’s body was tied to a chair and Crowley, Castiel and Dean buzzed around him like greedy vultures waiting with palpable urgency for the designated prey to become a corpse. 

Sam’s screams now filled the room, while the first pins wounded his skull as a way to track down the angel inside him and reveal who he really was.

Every cry of the brother stung Dean’s soul with force. 

It was his fault Sam had to bear with this now. 

Every tooth clench, every closed fist, every gasp of pain reminded the hunter of how wrong his decision had been. 

And now that the consequences were materialising, Dean felt suffocated in his own breath.

He felt tears forming in his eyes. «I can’t do it», he murmured, heading in broad directions to wherever was far enough from where he was at the moment.

He felt the screams decrease in intensity as he went away and he could not help but realize that the same pauses and silences asphyxiated him as well.

Every silence, every reflection that manifested stifling in his mind, every distant echo that fell into his consciousness vigorously. 

And Dean just wanted to scream.

Pray that everything would stop for a moment. Recover his breath. 

And instead his smallest move annoyed him: The mere thought of having to inhale and exhale; of blinking; the thrill that ran through his body because of the icy room in which he was; the sweat that wet his shirt; the lack of a particular necklace whose absence now seemed to mark a groove in his chest; the hair that attached to his face; the uncultivated beard that pricked his hand; the salty tears that descended too slowly as if they wanted to dilate time.

«Dean..» Castiel’s voice came to his ears, uncertain and apprehensive.

With a hand movement, Dean wiped the remaining tears, feeling his throat burn as a sob begged to come out. 

He breathed deeply and smiled, looking up.

«Are you okay?» he asked, the voice now closer. 

He could feel Castiel’ s breath a few meters from his own body and the pressure of the inquisitive gaze behind him. 

Dean threw back a laugh, shaking his head 

«No» he commented, accepting for once, just once, the way he felt. 

A distant scream darkened the room and Dean breathed, closing his eyes

« A fucking angel is in my brother’s body and it’s all my fault. And not only so ..» he said, laughing ironically, «But I am relying on Crowley» he shook his head, taking his face in trembling hands as he turned to the angel behind him «Crowley! Can you believe it? » 

Castiel’s eyes unveiled all the pain he felt as he looked at Dean like that. 

The mouth, ajar, sought the words to express himself and waited, at the same time, for the man in front of him to vent. 

And for a moment, as he was watching him, Dean wondered if it wasn’t Castiel the one to not feel fine.

He needed a distraction. To hear something other than the desperate cries of his brother in the next room, the metal pins piercing the fresh flesh, some of which knocking on the floor stronger than they should had. 

He was saddened to remember that he had produced a dry "no" as an answer to a question that now found in his mind an automatic answer of circumstance. 

You’re fine, Dean. You’re fine.

«So.. now you are an angel again?» he asked, forcing the tears inside «Back to the way you were before? Just like that?» He asked, desperately trying to cover up the pain he felt crossing his body. 

«It is not exactly my grace, it has an uncertain time limit within which will run out»

Castiel looked at him, uncertain and aware of what Dean was going through «It wasn’t your fault, Dean» 

The hunter turned his back on him and breathed, slowly.

Castiel approached and laid a hand on his shoulder, waiting for him to glance at him back again.

However, Crowley’s harsh voice arrived, ordering them to return to the room where they had previously been. 

Dean breathed deeply, moving to the other room.

Castiel’s hand fell.

The red essence had entered Sam with vehemence, while the body reacted to the intrusion.

The angel, under the pressure of the needles that had scratched his head, had spoken, revealing to them that his name was Gadreel. 

Dean had had to restrain Castiel’s body because of the discovery, which with anger had approached dangerously: the angel in Sam’s body was, in fact, the one who had let the snake into the garden of Eden, who had let the eternal happiness designated by God for men fall away with the deception of a reptile; the bite of an apple.

He had ignored the way in which his hand, resting on the angel’s body to prevent him from killing the other there and now, still restrained in his brother’s body, had held onto his chest once Castiel had retracted. 

How it had stayed there, frozen , before Dean had realized it and abruptly took it off. 

He had observed for a few moments Castiel, his jaw clenched in a hard bite, his firm, motionless body with the hands at the sides , and had emitted a small sigh of relief when he realized that he had not noticed 

Then, with red eyes for tears that the hunter did not intend to materialize, he had tightened the root of his nose nervously as Crowley removed the tattoo from Sam’s body, to be able to invade and free him from that state of unconsciousness to which he had been subjected.

Crowley’s body, sitting on the chair in front of the one where Sam’s body had been placed, had collapsed at the moment when the scarlet substance, leaking from its own vessel, had entered the other’s mouth with a spiral.

The hunter could feel the sweat on his forehead dripping down his neck, under his black shirt. 

It was too much to bear: his brother with his head bent over the chair, static, while two creatures he did not trust met in his body. 

What would have happened if Crowley had lost? 

What if he would be forever trapped in his brother’s ’s body, or worse, he would die there? 

He thought of the possibility that he would never see his little brother again, that from now on, Sam would be the vessel of the most ignoble angel in Heaven. 

He didn’t dare to say it out loud. 

He was staring at Sam’s face for any sign that he was recovering, and yet his body was still in the position in which it had tilted before, except for some shivers that crossed his torso as spasms that the hunter did not have the courage to identify. 

All he felt was the guilt on his shoulders, as if someone was sinking him into the ground below. 

And for a moment he believed that it would be better. He was poison. Whoever approached him would come out as wounded. 

To Sam, it was more of a conviction, being born from the same mother. He had been constricted to be around Dean in his first years of living.

But even when he had tried to escape the circumstances in which they found themselves forced to live, Dean had chased and abruptly taken him away from what one day might have been his happiness. 

He had dragged him out of that burning house, leaving behind the first of many bodies.

He thought of his father, who had sacrificed himself to allow him to breathe a little longer; to Benny, who, because of one of his desperate request, had returned to the place from which he had desperately tried to escape; to Kevin, who had involuntarily entered their family and now was just black dust.

He thought of Castiel, beside him, of all the things the angel had done in these years to help him, and wondered if one day he would have destroyed him too.

He sighed heavily and looked up, glancing at the way the body of the other was as firm as that of Sam, yet, despite the visible calmness on his face, attentive and alert. 

He concentrated on the angel, memorizing every movement and perceiving, within him, voices that whispered with firmness to avert his gaze; that if he continued to look at him, Castiel would have simply dissolved because everything he dared to care for would, eventually, burn down.

But then, Castiel turned around, slowly and looked at Dean breathing deeply at his side. 

The older Winchester tried to smile, because he knew from the way he was breathing deeply, from the tremor his hands were having, that if Castiel had touched him in an attempt to find out what was upsetting him, he would have collapsed; but he just could not. 

And his lips were now clenching in a hard line without the trace of a smile marking them as he watched the angel in front of him and felt grateful when the other said nothing nor hinted at moving, but let Dean study him as long as he needed to , until the hunter’s gaze dared to turn away, and Castiel just did the same thing softly , letting him know that there was no hurry.

Turning to Sam’s body, he saw the same move imperceptibly and before he realized it a blue light was flooding the room. 

He covered his eyes, while the power of the same attacked the room they were in.

He felt as if he was inside a tornado and too much air was entering his lungs and he could not fully see what was happening, while his heart was pounding.

And then with one last glow of blue light, it all came to an end. 

The lightning disappeared, flying towards the ceiling, while the same red one entered with the same hardness with which it had left Crowley’s vessel. 

Castiel catapulted himself onto Sam’s body, freeing his forehead from those needles that surrounded it discreetly, as the relief spread over the hunter’s face. 

He was just starting to remove the straps that blocked Sam’s wrists when Castiel’s voice reached behind him.

«It’s Abaddon», he commented, in relation to the noise of the car they had heard coming.

«Go» The hunter met the face of the demon who had spoken, rising from his chair «I’ll take care of it»

«It will take a few sessions to heal you completely», Castiel murmured, having touched the younger’s forehead with his hand. 

Gadreel had almost completely cured Sam’s body from the injuries he had suffered, but it still was not enough. 

He felt Dean’s figure heavy just behind him and walked away, leaving the space that the two brothers needed, looking at them from afar.

«How do you feel?» the older asked, then, as he approached Sam who was now leaning against the railing

«Angry», he said, forcefully spitting the words out of his mouth «You let that sort of... psychopath into me»

«I had no choice»

«You had a choice. You just chose the one that was best for you. Dean, I was ready to die»

«Gadreel saved your life» he then pronounced with anger.

The rain wet the structure of the bridge, falling peacefully as if it did not want to make any noise while every particle of the hunter’s body felt the need to scream.

«Yes, and now I have Kevin’s death on my conscience»

The sound of the name made Dean recede, as if someone had just poured iced water on his body. 

He was just a boy. He could have been happy. 

«Don’t say it. What happened to Kevin is my fault» He hissed forcefully, feeling his body stiff at every syllable. Sam smiled ironically, turning around.

Dean sighed deeply before speaking again.

«I will find that son of a bitch of an angel and I’ll make him pay for everything he has done… but I will do it myself»

«What do you mean?»

«That every person who approaches me eventually dies, Sam»

His brother looked back, analyzing him. He could feel Castiel’s gaze a few meters from them. 

The few moments of silence struck Dean with an incessant rhythm, while his legs trembled for what Castiel couldn’t understand whether to be pain or anger.

«Go. I won’t stop you»

He tightened his jaw to the hoarse manner in which words had flowed out of the younger’s mouth. 

He turned down, nodding and gave a last look to Castiel, before walking towards the car.

He felt the rain wet his clothes and every fiber of his body tremble with anger. 

He felt the burning of his eyes, now red and tired, and the adrenaline gradually dissolving in his body, leaving it empty.

The cold, of which he had not cared before, struck him with violence. 

And Dean felt within himself that he deserved every single shiver that derived from it 


	6. 6.

A new energy ran through his body.

He felt warm, as he perceived his body inflaming, his mouth desperately seeking air, his arms stiffening, revealing veins too much marked.

His skin shook, imitating the legs that struggled to support his torso standing. He sensed a burnt: his whole body on fire, while a cursed sign was tracing his arm. While the hairs of the same stood under the light that the red mark was releasing, imprinting itself on the skin.

He imagined Sam’s voice: how he would have told him that this was a stupid act and wondered if it would be like that now again. If even now Sam would have worried about him and yelled that he shouldn’t have done it. That he believed in him and always had and they would have faced this situation together once again .

He wondered if this would be the case as he felt the energy branching out into his body and dissolving right into it, and when he realized that this time it would not be like so, he felt the floor crumbling under his feet.

He tightened his lips while the suffocating air of the room seemed to choke his lungs with bare hands and to squeeze and squeeze them until they exploded of screams, regrets and missing breaths.

He had been in contact with Castiel over the past few weeks to find out how the treatments were proceeding, whether Sam was actually healing or not.

He noted his fingers punctually linger on the closing button of the call before finally ending it, because those were the only times he could be sure that Sam was fine that, despite his absence, he was safe.

And Castiel’s voice resulted safe and clear enough to make him feel better after having listened to him speak.

He had solved a case with Sam last week, and Dean had felt that maybe, just for a moment, it would all come back into place. Because Sam had smiled at one of his usual stupid jokes that probably was not even that funny , because they had worked together after a few weeks of not seeing the one another , because they had fought that monstrous being like they always did.

And yet, Dean had realized that it would have been much better to work with anyone else on that case. Because Sam anticipated his every movement on the way to one or the other room and understood with a single glance the next question he would have asked the witness and Dean simply knew that if he would have missed the target while fighting, Sam would have had his back and he’d be the one shooting, giving him time to get off the ground.

And the awareness of being so synchronous, yet so distant; the fortune of knowing each other so deeply scraped against the circumstance they were now living for his own fault, was too much to put up with.

When they had finished the case, Dean had tried to spend some more time with him but Sam had looked away and had said that: "No, Dean. We can’t have lunch together” and that he didn’t feel like he could yet. Dean wanted to forget the wounded expression on his own face, the disappointment in remembering the mistake he had made, the contracted jaw, the narrow eyes that had pinched because Sam had told him that maybe it was better this way, maybe it was better to stay away, maybe they weren’t supposed to be brothers anymore.

And now, tracing the mark didn’t seem that stupid.

Abaddon had to be stopped at any cost and he felt like he was suddenly alone in fighting this battle.

Cain had, therefore, transferred the mark which had traced his skin with force. His arm looked motionless, yet it seemed as the bright, fresh red scar continued to explode energy in his own body.

The important thing now was that the sign was traced on his body and only on his.

The end of the Knight of Hell depended on him and even if this was considered as dangerous and deadly, did it really matter anymore? 

It was on his own arm now. It would determine his eventual end, of no one but his own.

He was surprised at how he had reacted steadily to the new present power.

Like his mechanical mind, as soon as he came into possession of it , had thought about needing to find the First Blade, the weapon with which the mark became effective and with which he could have finished his task.

His body had shook.

The power that had invaded him like a waterfall of cold water in an even colder atmosphere.

If this was the power of the mark now that it was not complete, how powerful would he have become once he got hold of the missing part too?

He detached his fists and turned his gaze to Crowley, on the side of the room where they were at , who looked at the red sign with curiosity and exctiment. They had to get the First Blade.

Castiel forcefully raised the sleeve of Dean’s jacket under the evasive gaze of the hunter who had turned his face in the process. The angel’s eyes dilated as he saw a mark on his arm.

It was red and emerged with a rare intensity from the skin, like a burn. A slightly curved line was accompanied by two smaller lines, one below the other, in the mid center of it.

The angel’s face looked for Dean’s, forcing him to turn around.

«What is this?» he asked, sounding his words with harshness.

Dean abruptly shook his arm from the grip of the other watching him «I did what I had to do»

«Dean!» growled the angel between narrow teeth, approaching. And the hunter could swear that his gaze had become more alive, stronger, more determined as he watched him bewildered.

Dean raised his hands to the sky, scoffing «What else did I have to do , mh?» he answered in the same, threatening tone used by Castiel shortly before «We must... I have to kill that bitch and if the only way is to have a freaking mark to help me do it.. I certainly won’t back down»

«Of course you won’t» replied Castiel in a harsh tone «You never do»

«And what’s that supposed to mean?» Dean questioned him as his brow wrinkled rudely.

He felt his fingers quiver, closed in fists that did not hint at disentangling.

«That you’re impulsive, Dean. And you should have consulted us before doing something like that. We both know that these kind of actions always have consequences»

Dean ignored the way Castiel’s body approached his, the force in the eyes that glued him exactly where he was without really being able to move, the tight lips, the low and rough tone of his voice.

«Consul who, Cas? » asked Dean, raising his voice and sharpening his eyes in the other’s gaze. «My brother who no longer speaks to me because of some bullshit I’ve done?»

Castiel kept his face still in his, while Dean spoke before him «You could have called me, Dean»

The hunter looked at his expression before replying «You wouldn’t have never let me do such a thing » he concluded

The angel’s pupils dilated as their faces met in mid-air «Exactly».

Dean fought the urge to look down. To look at the lips that were now only a few centimeters from his own , to see the way these, pink and chapped, were pungent and tight for the atmosphere they were living.

He succumbed and ,for a moment, his gaze was turned to Castiel’s lips

A breath broke in his throat.

He felt the angel’s inquiring gaze upon him.

They were breathing the same air.

«I don’t need your help, Cas» he said, letting the words come out as they scraped on his palate.

He met his eyes: blue and wounded and trembled at the sight.

« Go away » he said then, looking down.

He felt the strength with which Castiel looked at him, the way he tried to approach him.

Two wings would have been more useful then. When he’d look up and meet the empty, isolated road with no sign of Castiel. When he could have damned himself in the moment, lifted his face to the sky and nodded to himself, accepting the condition in which he was, the actions he had done, the throat hurting for the urge to just cry.

Now, instead, he was forced to look at the angel searching for his face, lowered and still on the floor of the semi-lost place where they were at , and turn around, resigned. Walking slowly and far away and then disappearing around the corner, while heavy steps mowed the ground.

Dean believed that for the noise, footprints would be traced. He focalized on the way the trenchcoat fluttered at the height of the calves, the short hair caressed by the wind, the hands along the sides.

He breathed a sigh.

Two wings would have been easier to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know when Castiel finds out about the moc, Sam is with him and Dean and him are not that angry at each other anymore, but i wanted to changed the events a bit


	7. 7.

Dean likes boys too.

The first time he had noticed was during a case when, still a child and working with his father, that one child of his own age, son of the witness they were interrogating, had come up to him and had invited him to play together at some videogame.

He couldn’t had done it: he was not only still investigating but, moreover, it was the first time they were facing a shape-shifter; he had to be prepared enough to recognize it in a possible hunt in which his father would not be present.

The child had , however, smiled and had remained there beside him while John questioned his father; and Dean could not help but notice how a dimple would appear on his face whenever he laughed, how the blonde, short hair reminded him of his favourite cereals and, as he watched him, he had perceived a small thunder opening silently down his stomach, not aware of what it could really mean.

And then as a teenager, when during P.E in one of the many schools he had attended, had glared a little too long at the body of one of his classmates. The skinny chest, the sculpted legs, the underlined muscles of the arms.

Realizing what he had been doing, he had vigorously blushed and had gone to the girl he had been with the night before, kissing her with more heat than necessary.

It wasn’t something he’d ever thought of, simply because he could not.

His father would have never really approved and it didn’t matter he was still young : he had to look after Sam due to his mother’s absence 

What if one day he would have decided to kiss a boy instead of a girl and his father would have found out?

And he had tried to deny it, to kiss more and more girls to convince himself that "No, Dean you don’t like that guy. Dudes don’t check out other dudes" and yet, he had collapsed.

It had happened one day while he was watching porn and he had come crying, because whenever a man would appear on the screen he would feel his member throbbing in his own hand and he so desperately didn’t want it to be like that.

He had accepted it by breaking the bedside lamp in a fit of rage.

"Dean, you like boys too."

And now, in spite of everything, he repressed himself

He knew he liked them.

He knew from when he would walk into any club and just couldn’t look at only the girls; when he would see a man crossing the street and thought of how it would be like to kiss him.

However, he limited himself to this and only this : to know it.

He hid it, he did not go with men, he had never had said “no” to a girl, too scared it would sound suspicious.

He felt the vivid awareness within him that he would never really let himself be : everything he felt was cloaked in shame.

And Castiel is not a man. He is an angel, an essence in a the human body of a male. He does not have a real gender.

But Dean feels that in a male or female body or in the true form that Castiel presents without any kind of means to hide it, he would still be attracted to him.

Because there is something in the innocence with which he speaks, in the stoic determination in which he deals with the circumstances, in the timid and steadfast and stubborn personality, fascinated by every little detail that Dean cannot get away from his thoughts, completely submitted to the energy that he emanates.

And while shivers he had never known until then, pass through his body, Dean denies.

It’s easier this way. 

He doesn’t deserve Castiel.

He can’t let every good thing in his life fall apart out of sheer selfishness.

He can’t risk to destroy him, too.

And he senses the skin quivering at every look and the eyes clinking at every touch and as he feels that he could explode at any moment, he represses and hides.

Because it’s better this way.

«Cheese?» The voice came far, awakening Dean from his own thoughts

«What?»

«Cheese. Would you like some cheese on your fries, sir?»

The waiter of the club where he had entered observed him, patiently waiting for an answer; the black pen that rattled on the block of papers.

Dean nodded, distracted, and put the hands in his hair as the waiter walked away to bring the order to the kitchen.

The blade, hidden inside the jacket, stung him firmly and Dean felt completely unable to forget, even for a second, the adrenaline that had crossed his body when he had finally came into possession of the latter.

The hand with which he had hold it had shaken with force and Dean, at that moment, had understood what it meant to be under the control of something stronger. To be unstoppably subdued to a power that the world should not know and by whose strength it had felt his body waver at every energy discharge.

All he had perceived was his heart beating in the rib cage as if wanting to get out of it, his eyes getting brighter and the blood bubbling in the veins.

And, now, the First Blade, was hidden in a corner of his clothes and he could feel its tip injuring his torso with every little movement.

Having to kill Abaddon had now become a greedy lust. He not only wanted to do it, he _needed_ to.

He had also been told that the mark gave a sort of aura of protection to the owner so that the chosen one could not die. Yet, the hunter felt the mark suffocate him and, if not physically, he believed that he, Dean Winchester, would still drown in the power that this trait was giving him and in the fog that was unleashing in his own mind.

The house in which they had entered hit the nostrils of the two hunters with a heavy smell, and while the cold sent shivers strongly perceived on their skin, they barely advanced.

Sam, at his side, with a large iron instrument tightened around his hands, turned his back on Dean, going in the opposite direction.

The walls of the house, sprinkled with stains of damp, seemed to recall the terrible way in which the son of the same buyers had died a few months earlier.

A vortex had carried him to the bottom of the lake a few meters from the same house, and when his father had dived, trying to bring his son back to the surface, he could have done nothing but mourn his body while traces of sweet and salty water had marked his cheeks.

Soon after, he had been found dead in the upstairs bedroom, a tight rope circling his neck.

When the daughter of the new buyers, while swimming in the lake, had died in the same way as the youngest child and the news had made his way to Sam and Dean, they had decided to intervene, putting aside the discussions previously had.

The trace of a sigh appeared before the face of the older Winchester.

He closed his mouth in a narrow line, lifting his salt-loaded pistol in mid-air.

He swiftly turned, feeling his hands quiver with adrenaline; his throat dried out.

He turned his eyes a few meters into that new perimeter that he had turned to scrutinize.

The grip on the weapon became stronger despite the absence of an actual spirit and he let his gaze wander inside the house as well as his hearing, trying to feel any odd noise.

Then, suddenly, the figure of a child occupied that space that until a few moments before had been completely empty.

A shiver ran through the hunter’s body, while the boy’s dull eyes observed him.

«Stop», the ghost commented.

The voice flat, the body surrounded by a cold aura while the clothes seemed to drip on the floor, without leaving a real stain on it.

Dean tightened his jaw, observing the spirit of what did not seem intended to advance towards him

«You are Krigs’ son » said the hunter, cautiously pointing the gun.

The child nodded and a glitch crossed his image.

«Your brother is in danger»

Dean impulsively advanced towards the child as a burst of energy branched out into his body. The simplicity with which the younger had expressed what he had just reported made him completely unable to formulate any sentence.

«Let’s go»

Dean had followed the child’s body outside of the house they were in.

His anguish coloured his body with strength.

He needed to find his brother.

While they were advancing quickly, a vice squeezed his heart as he recognized the road they were traveling: it was the path to reach the lake.

The child, just before, had brushed him with his hand and the hunter, trying to ignore the cold localized on the point of the forehead where he had tried to touch him, had been able to share for a moment the memories of the child.

The cold water. The blue bottom of the lake. The suffocating air. The darkness.

As calculated flashbacks, Dean had swam through the after death experiences of the child: the rejection of Heaven to be on earth next to his father, the suicide of the same, the ice that had covered a corner of the lake when that had suffocated the girl just a few days before.

«I don’t think he wants to allow others to survive in the same place where I lost my life» had told him whom for a moment Dean had forgotten to be a child.

The opaque eyes had followed his intrigued and worried look and had directed him for the first few meters outside the house.

Once he had recognized the path, Dean had begun to run to the cursed place.

«Sam!» he cried, seeing the figure of his brother fighting against the ghost of a grown man, a long line that marked his neck.

He turned around, taking note of his brother’s presence and attacking the man with an iron bar, which body disappeared for a few moments allowing Dean to run towards his brother, followed slowly by the child’s body, which Sam looked at dismayed.

«Sam, is it possible for him to be the object his father is bound to ?» asked Dean in a gasp, glancing towards the child that closely followed him and pleading to leave the explanations for later.

Sam frowned his eyebrows, uncertain «It’s...rare, but umm, could be»

Then, after having studied him again and having turned his gaze between him and his brother:

«Wait, why should he be a vengeful spirit if he has his son at his side?» asked, concerned « I mean , if it is really his son who keeps him tied up in this place, why would he feel the need to kill?»

Dean analyzed his words, the same confusion cloaking his face «I don’t-»

«He cannot see me»

The words of the child arrived like all the other sentences pronounced until then : Flat, without any inclination to colour the letters.

«What?» asked the two hunters in unison, astonished by what they had just heard

«We see the things we want to see only when we are ready to see them. He is still too angry to notice my presence»

The amazed expression on the face of the elder was soon accompanied by that of his brother.

A ghost who couldn’t see the other : Someone who had everything he was looking for in front of himself and, not wanting to notice, preferred to pour his anger on the outside.

As Dean was opening his mouth to speak again , an unknown force threw him a little far from where he was and before he was able to record it, the water wet his clothes.

He felt these sticking to his body as he climbed back to the surface, desperately trying to recover air.

But when he opened his mouth to breathe, all his lungs encountered was water.

Someone was holding him down, making him unable to climb up.

Panic invaded his limbs as he felt the increasingly constant need to breathe again.

He heard the muffled sound of someone screaming around him and all he could think about was that he needed air.

Air, air, air.

And everything he came across was just cold and dirty water.

His head still slammed against the invisible barrier that stopped him in the water and while his arms were struggling in search of something that could help him to climb up, he felt his body give out at every moment; his breath missing out.

The lack of light due to the late hour when they had decided to inspect the house, previously irrelevant, now seemed to only increase that feeling of oppression and fear that his body was facing.

And while a last sigh was born in the body and the bottom did not seem so far away, the force that held it seemed to vanish suddenly.

He felt his body shouting, screaming, quivering with pain and anguish and asking to stop for a moment and to not continue swimming upwards and nevertheless, he let the surface welcome him again.

Sam had burned the boy’s body in an instinctive gesture while Dean was underwater.

He had told him that everything was going to be turn out just fine and while his body had started trembling at the flames that were surrounding him, another cold presence had appeared before the one that burned and, for the first time, he had seen him.

The child’s eyes had for a moment been pierced by a glare in being recognized by his father, and the hunter had, then, turned the cold of the second ghost into a scorching flame, whose sparks had drawn in detail the disappearance of those two bodies that only in a second death had recognized each other.

Now the car walked the asphalt with ease and the cold they had perceived several times that night, now was just a distant memory.

Dean’s clothes, previously soaked in water and fear, were now laying in the back of the same in a bag, unable to wet the 'Impala in any possible way while the hunter was wrapped by new garments.

His body, however, still trembled slightly, searching for more air than needed.

«Strange case, mh?» said Sam, coughing slightly.

A drop from the wet hair, twisted Dean’s face.

«Yep» replied the other « But I am telling you, if that child were still alive now» he added, ignoring the lump that had formed in the throat within the words «He'd be a poet. I know for sure»

Sam smiled softly, nodding and let the silence fill those words hidden in the air.

The older swerved down the road where the bunker stood and stopped the car in front of the entrance, waiting for Sam to get out of the vehicle.

That one, without looking at him, cleared his voice.

«Dean» he cautiously started «Would you like to come home?»

A smile opened at the height of the hunter’s heart and as Sam’s unexpected request hovered in the air, he gave in to the serenity he was feeling.

«Are you sure?» he asked slowly, not wanting to break that hopeful atmosphere.

«We still have a lot to figure out, Dean. And I haven’t fully recovered from what happened yet»

Dean inhaled deeply. The fear filling back every limb of his body.

«But we can try.»

We can try to work together again like we used to, to leave behind what happened, to live again under the same roof, to be a family again, to be brothers again.

«One step at a time»

«One step at a time» Dean repeated, confirming what his brother had said.

«Sam, I don’t understand how a Tasmanian devil can live in the same climate condition of a duck, a rabbit and a cat», commented Castiel, not taking his eyes off the television where the cartoon was broadcasting.

Dean smiled softly at the other’s comment, anxiously peering out the door of the room.

He had argued with Castiel only a few days earlier, he was not sure he would be equally happy to see him.

«Dean!» said Castiel, leaving the room and facing the hunter who took a few steps back.

«Cas» exhaled the other.

Castiel, in front of him, with his head slightly inclined, looked at him. Blue eyes looking for his own. He scrutinized him, perplexed, unable to comprehend what Castiel was feeling and to perceive whether he was still angry athim.

Castiel opened his mouth and closed it immediately and Dean felt all the anguish of what he might say to him.

He couldn’t take to be involved in another fight. Not again. Not tonight. Not with Cas.

Then, Castiel came closer.

«Your hair is wet»

Dean nodded, retreating again as he felt a jolt of relief pervading his heart.

«Yes, y’ know couldn’t wait to do a little night swim»

And before Dean knew it, Castiel’s hand landed on his cheek.

He tried to ignore the fingers that, still, touched him carefully; how much he liked the sensation of Castiel’s hand on his cheek.

He slightly-parted his lips.

His breathing stuck in his throat.

«Wh- What are you doing?»

«Adjusting your body temperature, you’re shaking»

And Dean was sure the shivers weren't just those of the cold he had felt.

_We see the things we want to see only when we’re ready to see them_


	8. 8.

If it was possible to materialize the air you breathed, Dean was sure that the weight of it would have crushed him until his lungs, deprived of the same that was suffocating them, would have gave in. He had never suffered from claustrophobia, and yet there, amid his thoughts in a room that seemed crowded despite the absence of any being, the hunter felt as if he was struggling against impulses greater than him.

He had held the First Blade that morning in view of the mission that awaited him in just a matter of hours: he had observed it for a few moments before being able to touch it with trembling fingers. Had felt the energy infused in this; his own body imploding between ramifications of a power that now begged subtly him to be used. It was like holding something alive, something that constantly asked to be inflicted in something else, in _someone_ else, and the mark, at the contact with its missing part, had lit up.

And now that they had discovered, through Crowley’s help , where Abaddon was, the mere thought of the task frightened the hunter; and not because he had to kill one of the knights of Hell, but for the resource he would have to use and for the total lack of control he perceived while using its power.

He heard the footsteps of what he recognized as Sam in the direction of his own bedroom door.

«Dean, we should start going. The place Crowley talked about is more than an hour’s drive from here»

The hunter nodded, putting the jacket he had left on the bed and leaving the room. He crossed the corridor following his brother and quickly exited the bunker entrance

Then, once placed in the driving seat, he turned to Sam.

«Where’ s Cas? » He asked sounding distracted, trying to not let out the resentment in his voice, remembering that he was not in the apartment when they had left.

«He’s probably still working with the angels»

Castiel had, in fact, in the prior weeks, become the leader of a faction of the angelic army.

At first he had refused the assignment, still too shaken by memories of bad choices and even more serious consequences to be able to accept such a task but, then, he had seen in it the opportunity to finally redeem himself and to lead his fellows to victory for a right cause.

And as much as Dean believed in Castiel’s aims, the fact that he hadn’t been there with them made the hunter more nervous than he already was. The angel knew the importance of such combat and the danger of it. And Dean also felt in his heart, that from the moment he would have wielded the First Blade and used it to kill Abaddon, he would never be the same.

How could he, if every time the mark would lit up, he would feel like he was under its control ? When all his impulsivity manifested itself vividly in front of his eyes? If the urge to kill exceeded the primary instinct of self-preservation and safety?

  


  


  


  


It’s hard to get blood off of your hands. Dean realizes it as he desperately tries to wash away what remains of it on his fists and rubs his palm several times with the other while the hot water burns his fingers. And it’s when the red runs smoothly towards the sink opening, completely vanishing from the place that had previously coloured, and Dean continues to rub more avidly than before, that he understands that the blood is not the actual problem.

The mirror in front of him reflects his image and Dean wonders how he can now recognize himself in that. That he has the same features and green eyes as ever, when just few moments before his face had been covered by that same blood that he had so desperately tried to take off, when his hand had seized the weapon with more force and struck, hit and beat the body of that being that was already dead at the first touch, and he had yet so violently tortured until Sam had finally drove him away from the lifeless body.

  


He opened the fridge, grabbed a beer and held it in his hands before sinking into the chair next to the table. Normally, after the end of a hunt, he would perceive the derived anxiety gradually shaking off; now, instead, like a second skin, this cloaked him, without letting him be able to determine when it had started and when it would cease to exist. He felt ready and attentive and for a moment he found himself imagining that the beer held in his hands was actually an ancient blade.

He wandered the empty living room with his eyes and found himself thinking that perhaps Castiel didn’t care so much whether he was alive or not.

The beer in his hands rattled against the rough surface of the table and the hunter realized that the liquid inside had finished. He got up and took a second one.

  


  


  


When the house door opened three hours later, Dean was in complete fibrillation. The fingers quivered as they roamed, trembling, the pages of an old magazine because of the permanent adrenaline

«Dean» called Castiel, advancing to the place where Dean was. The hunter stood up, careless, and replied the name of the other with firmness.

The angel moved slightly on the spot, thinning his gaze «I perceive a note of resentment in your voice»

Dean turned, passing his tongue between his lips, irritated.

«How do you feel?» he asked, approaching.

Dean looked at him in disbelief. He had faced a dark knight that morning, had sunk the First Blade into his body, had felt the mark pulsating strongly within him and sent a superhuman energy imploding in his every fibre . And Castiel knew that and he had still preferred to be absent during the entire duration of this.

Then, while his own body trembled with irritation and wished for nothing more than to replicate with equal harshness to the question posed to him, he noticed a dark spot on the shoulder of the angel.

He approached, examining «You are hurt» then commented, looking at him.

Castiel nodded absent-mindedly «Yes, nothing concerning though», he said and advanced a hand toward the wound

«What are you doing?» asked the hunter angrily, observing the movements of the other.

«Healing it. I didn’t have the time before.»

Dean shook his head «I’ll do it » and headed to the kitchen, taking the necessary tools.

«You don’t need to, Dean. It’ll take me just a moment. It’s not a deep wound.»

Having told him to remove the trench coat and the jacket underneath, Dean made him sit on the chair next to the table, placing himself on another one in front of him.

«Other day you said that your grace has a time limit. You don’t need to waste it unnecessarily to try to heal wounds that I can take care of too»

Castiel bowed his face, watching Dean disinfect meticulously some objects inside the kit he had previously taken.

He faced again the angel, approaching to open the first buttons of the white shirt as a way to detect the wound and be able to heal it. He tried to ignore the way he held his breath while being at the height of Castiel’s face; the way he handled the first buttons with care; the fact that the idea of letting Castiel loose the bottoms by himself hadn’t even briefly flashed to his mind.

He slightly moved the bloody shirt and the large cut that ran through it, noting with relief that the blood had already finished flowing.

«How did you even get that?» he asked, taking a tissue soaked in disinfectants to clean the wound.

Castiel tightened his teeth when he came into contact with the wound. Since he had became human for that short period of time he would feel more the sensations that his own body perceived on the skin

«A fight. Not all angels have happily met my decision of becoming the leader of one of the sides. Those who follow me trust me, but others see it as an attack towards our species because of all I have done»

The hunter pressed the handkerchief one last time before placing it back on the table.

«Bet you kicked their asses after that» he commented, taking an extra gauze to dab the cut.

Castiel smiled and Dean noticed the sweetness of his features in opening up in such an action «Kind of »

Dean laughed a little.

«Does it hurt you?» Castiel asked, pointing to the mark

«A bit»

«Theoretically, after you have fought with a knight of Hell, it should pulse more»

«You know that I have defeated Abaddon?»

«Of course, Dean»

«I thought...» he began in disbelief, shifting his weight on the chair where he was sitting «You’ve been out all day even though you knew about what Crowley had told us ... just thought you didn’t care»

«Dean, I was informed minute by minute about what was happening through the angel radio. Then, when you were back in the car I called you to know how you were doing, Sam answered saying that you were sleeping but that everything was fine»

Dean averted his eyes from Castiel’s gaze, focusing on the bandage he was wrapping around the wound. One of the few times that he had let Sam drive and abandoned himself to a few hours of sleep, Castiel had called him. He felt relieved by what he had just said and, at the same time, the fact that he had felt so conditioned by the presence of the angel frightened him.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He should not have felt so comforted in knowing that Castiel had been at his side all day, though not directly. He didn’t have to feel this way as he had touched Castiel’s soft skin and the scent had intoxicated him so much that Dean would have wanted to be flooded with it. He didn’t have to feel his own cheeks blushing just because of the space they were sharing, because of the serenity he would feel whenever Castiel was there with him. With one last squeeze, he finished covering his shoulder with the white cloth.

«Thank you, Dean»

«No probs»

His hand touched Castiel’s shoulder again and Dean felt unable to remove it from where it now stood stubbornly, not far from the wound he had just treated.

Castiel looked at him, inquisitive, and, perceiving the look of the other on his own face, he turned his gaze again, making the hand that had until then remained firm on the warm body of the angel, fall

«Are you sure you are all right?»

Dean frowned and whispered a "yes" as those blue eyes fell, fixing in his own . Castiel let his gaze wander peacefully over the hunter’s body, studying him, and placed his hand at the height of his chest, unable to withstand the noise that now constantly thundered in his ears.

«Your heart is beating faster than usual» he murmured softly.

Dean sighed as he felt Castiel’s warm hand on his body.

The chair he was still sitting on wobbled when he moved as calmly as the angel had done and while he could feel his cheeks on fire, he imitated the same action, placing one hand on the other’s chest.

A breath stuck in his throat. He felt his lips suddenly dry.

  


«Yours too»

And before he could prevent his own movement, before he could be able to realize what was happening, his lips were on Castiel’s.

It had been a chaste touch : a simple brush of lips against lips. The null distance they were now in throwing new forms of energy into Dean’s body. And while a taste of mint and orange appropriated his body, Dean stepped back with a snap opening his eyes, closed shortly before in that moment of weakness.

What had he been thinking? He was desperately looking for a way to redeem himself, to say that "Hey, man, sorry 'bout that. You know, every once in a while I want to kiss you, and today I was stupid enough to actually do it, but easy, tiger, it’s not gonna happen again," and as too many paranoias flocked to his mind, Dean felt completely powerless to think of anything else than the man’s lips he had just kissed, his perfume, the big blue eyes that now looked at him shocked.

Castiel was, in fact, staring at him motionless and lost and scared and Dean felt the need to cry for the stupidity with which he had acted, for the way in which he had let go of himself , for the ultimate prospect of losing, eventually, one of the people he had ever really cared about.

«Sorry I-»

«Can I kiss you again?»

Castiel’s words hit Dean hard.

The Dean that had , meanwhile, lowered his gaze, too frightened and embarrassed to be able to bear the angel’s face and that now, in disbelief, stared trembling. And as he wondered if he had heard correctly what the other had said, a broken whisper came out of his mouth

«Please»

Castiel looked at Dean for another moment.

They studied each other.

Green in blue and blue in green.

He came closer; few inches from his lips. They closed both eyes, still in their hesitations.

And then, quietly, Castiel collided his lips with Dean’s.

Upon discovering the previously lost contact, Dean abandoned himself completely. He let Castiel kiss him, letting him tell through actions that he felt the same way, that it was okay to be like this, that everything that Dean had ever worried about had been in vain. He smiled timidly in the kiss, returning it while whimpering as his tongue looked for the angel’s one.

And Dean kissed Castiel. He took his lips between his own, let their tongues cross and held him to himself and moaned at his touch. He tasted and tasted it and the more he did it, the more he felt like he needed more. He only caught his breath when he felt his lungs begging for air while his arms searched for the body in front of him. And he had been searching for it for a long time, between glances, fleeting touches and unspoken words, and now he felt that everything that had not happened between them until that moment, all the feelings repressed in the depths of their hearts, was now coming back fiercely and dragging them down into a vortex he was sure he would never want to get out of.

And Castiel kissed Dean. And he touched him gently, searching with excitement and curiosity for that body between his fingers that quivered while the taste of alcohol and cinnamon collided on his own mouth. And he looked at the reactions that Dean had when he would touch this or that limb of skin, completely amazed at the human reaction to such simple touches. Completely bewitched by everything he felt in his own body. The grace that would light up in blue and white lights and fill it up and empty it while Dean kissed him and pulled away. As he approached their bodies and stopped to look at him.

Castiel looked at those eyes full of desire and wonder and...fear, because Dean looked at him as if he would disappear at any moment. As if he would have dissolved if Dean hadn’t kissed him one more time, if he didn’t hold him in his arms just right and more tightly than he had before and he could feel Dean blindly believing each of these feelings and holding him tighter and kissing him more urgently as a result.

And the hunter seemed to scream those words as he brought him closer.

"I’m scared" a kiss "I’m scared" a hand on the hair "I’m scared" an arm on the back

And Castiel couldn’t do anything but answer that he felt the same way

"I’m scared" a hand on the cheek "I’m scared" a caress on the bust "I’m scared" a touch of lips

"We can be scared together" they seemed to say as they were hiding a smile in a kiss, holding each other as if they had found themselves after too long, while they were looking at the other as if the world around them was just a blurred black cloud, as if all that was out of their sight didn’t really matter because Dean looks at Castiel and Castiel looks at Dean and all they can do is fall into each other’s eyes and touch and kiss and look for the one another again until their body asks for breath and they are forced to pull away just to stare at the other between blurry laughs.

  


  


  


The bedroom door closed with a thud, while Dean’s hands roared over Castiel’s body, whom, as he pulled the other’s hair lightly, moaned at the hunter’s touch.

Dean gasped and, without taking his lips off the other, fell on the bed with Castiel.

«Dean» came the groaning of the angel from under him; the hunter grunted at the sound.

In what appeared to be a staggered dance, Dean grazed the angel’s body removing layers of clothing that now seemed far too tight.

«I think there’s something wrong» Castiel said shortly after, gasping, and Dean immediately withdrew, hearing his uncertain voice. Slightly intrigued by the other’s concern, he observed him for a few moments, remaining, however, enchanted by the appearance of the creature beneath him.

The blue eyes shone with desire, uncertainty and devotion, while the short, dark hair was piled on the head in an unbalanced order that did nothing but highlight the circumstance they were in.

Dean lingered over his red mouth and sculpted body below him, watching his muscular chest rise and lower quickly. He licked his lips at the sight.

Castiel swallowed in seeing Dean’s gaze wandering on his face and on his bare chest « I feel a...heat» said the angel, recovering his breath «in the lower half of the stomach »

Dean followed Castiel’s blue eyes and groaned when he saw a bulge in the other’s pants. Facing him again, he smiled tenderly at his confused expression «Mm.. It means that you’re turned on» he said in a hoarse voice, tracing a trail of kisses on the neck of the man, which issued a feeble "oh", as he understood what Dean meant, before returning to breathe harshly.

«Do I turn you on , Cas?» He continued, biting a strip of skin between his collarbone and neck, savoring that hot body beneath him and , when Castiel responded with a growl, Dean believed he would have come then and there.

Listening to Castiel make those sounds, kissing him with that passion and that sweetness that distinguished him...

Dean pulled away from Castiel, visibly troubled, and saw the confusion on the angel’s face that, brandishing him by the shoulders, moved him closer again, kissing him.

«Cas, I..» said Dean, between kisses , weakly returning those lips that traced dozens on his face. 

Those lips that until a few hours ago, he had only imagined that he could have among his own.

He didn’t want it to be rushed. Every touch, every look, now more free, illuminated Dean of all the feelings he had had so far kept hidden. He felt his body quiver in search of the other and his lips trembling to his mere absence and, at the same time, the only prospect of making a mistake, of not fully appreciating what was happening, the fear of destroying what he had been trying to suppress for so long, sent annoying shivers through Dean’s body.

The angel moved slightly, interrupting what they were doing, and tilting his head, looked at him confused.

Dean smiled at the action. God, he was so beautiful.

«IDon’t want to do anything you don’t want to. So... if you don’t feel ready now we can..»

Dean let the phrase float in the air, looking at the angel beneath him. He accused his lips and hands, caressing and pulling his hair while they kissed, for making him momentarily forget that Castiel was, in fact, a virgin.

And as much as Dean had been absolutely indifferent to this fact in the past with all the people he had been with, for the first time he was with someone that he wanted to make feel good.

If before sex had been just an relief valve, a necessity to escape the confusion that characterized their days, a pleasure to distract from everything that was around him, now Dean, looking at Castiel below him, knew there was much else.

«Dean» said Castiel gently, laying a hand on his cheek and brushing it with his lips.

And Dean, at that soft touch, at the sound of his name so candid, swore that he could break.

He felt a vise tightening his chest.

Castiel often pronounced his name. So light, so clear as if it were the sweetest sound in the world. So different from the way everyone else had ever said it.

«Need to hear you say you’re ready, Cas», he said, looking for some hint of doubt in the eyes of the other «It doesn’t have to happen now... it could never happen if that’s what you want», he continued, swallowing.

And Castiel stared at him for a few moments and Dean got lost for the umpteenth time in those eyes.

Was it possible that he too felt frightened? That this need for approval, actually was for himself too?

He had never been with a man, he had never been with an angel and, above all, he had never been with someone who made him feel this way. Jesus, for half his life he had suppressed a part of himself.

And now that everything he had ever looked for was there in front of him, the thought of ruining everything outweighed every other desire he could have had. Castiel deserved to be loved, and Dean wasn’t sure he would ever be able to make him feel that way.

«I want to, Dean» said Castiel, breaking his own thoughts while breathing heavily under. Then he looked at him, carefully searching for the same certainty in the gaze of the other. And those eyes that looked for him with confidence seemed to impress the same feeling on Dean’s thoughts.

He smiled and nodded. He was ready too. 

Their lips met again and more eagerly than before, and further pants accompanied the air as Dean began to move his hips circularly, receiving groans from the body beneath him seeking all sorts of friction possible.

Castiel stood up slightly

«Do you always have to wear all these layers of clothes? It’s approximately half an hour that I’m taking off t-shirts»

Dean laughed on his lips «Says the one who always wears the same coat »

Castiel kissed him and when Dean’s naked chest met his sight, Castiel watched him amazed. Countless scars were painted on the man’s body above him.

The angel extended a hand, softly touching some of these with extreme reverence. He felt their structure on his skin as Dean sighed, trembling at every touch.

Castiel lapped over those scars deriving from years of hunting with respect, making his fingers adhere to the bite of a werewolf, to the now white wound of a blade just under the nipple. The many small and large reliefs that were on Dean’s sculpted body.

«I like them» exhaled Castiel, intertwining his gaze with that of Dean, who smiled shyly.

The embarrassment stained Dean’s lips as those hands caressed the visible scars.

Castiel’s gaze was too much for him. The way he looked at him, touching him as if he were something extremely fragile and precious. He felt tears forming in his eyes and chased them out, clenching his teeth and continuing to move on the body of the angel, continuing to remove layers of clothing. When they both were in only boxers, they laid down again on the mattress.

Castiel waved beneath Dean, causing their erections to rub, and when the hunter lowered a hand between their sweaty chests, resting it on the bulge of Castiel’s white fabric, exerting a slight pressure, the angel rutted shamelessly against his hand as he kissed him. Castiel was a creature of God. He did not know what shame was and did not cease to remind the hunter of it as he snapped his tongue to pronounce his name among greedy sighs.

  


«Dean» murmured Castiel when Dean finally took off the last layer of clothing and both remained naked.

He moved, biting the other’s lips as Castiel explored his mouth, sighing annoyed when Dean got out of bed to get a small blue box. Castiel turned his head sideways, confused, when he saw what he was holding between hands and Dean smiled with a grin as he watched his naked body.

«Cas, I need you to stay still now» he then said, blocking the hips that until then had tried to meet the hunter’s shallow thrusts. Sprinkling his fingers with the sticky substance, Dean kissed the angel’s chest as he searched for the opening of his body and, upon finding it, slowly inserted a finger inside.

Castiel trembled at the intrusion, writhing about the cold substance that had penetrated into him and the slight discomfort that ensued. Dean kissed him on the cheek as he exhaled words of comfort to his ear and, waiting for Castiel to get used to it, began to push his finger inside and out, gaining more and more sighs of pleasure.

When he added two more fingers and the other began to push against the same thrusts that Dean was giving him , the hunter knew he was ready.

Castiel’s body was warm under his own. Not only because of the sweat, and the hot air that they inevitably breathed in the room given the situation in which they were, but it emanated heat as if it had been in the sun for too long and was only now releasing the consequences. Dean felt soaked within the atmosphere and, depriving Castiel’s arse of his fingers, he sprinkled lubricant on his member.

He took Castiel’s thighs, lifting them up and letting them surround him, with legs intertwined on his back. Castiel closely followed Dean’s movements and sighed again when he felt the tip of the other touching his own opening.

Dean’s gaze, fixed on that of the angel and with respect, waited for him to tell him to continue. Castiel nodded below him, quivering with excitement.

Dean felt his own member throbbing from the sight to which he was subjected and, sinking slowly , entered the body of the angel.

«Oh- God, Cas» he exhaled with a whimper, feeling the way Castiel’s tight muscles held his member. Castiel was about to say something to Dean about the choice of terms used because, despite everything, he remained an angel of theLord and Dean had practically blasphemed but, crossing his eyes, he quieted.

The green of Dean’s eyes reminiscent of the trees, the meadows, the spring met with the celestial blue pools of Castiel. Earth joined with Heaven while those souls that so long had sought had finally become one.

Castiel got lost in those green eyes, in that bright soul he had saved from Hell, and while too many colours embraced at the height of his chest, Castiel impulsively laid a hand on the print of Dean’s shoulder. He made his hand collide with it, abandoning himself to the memory and Dean, having taken note of his action, smiled sweetly, kissing him chastely on the lips.

Dean was a hunter, Castiel a warrior, and yet there, together, they both swore they had never seen anything so pure.

  


Lacing up their devout eyes, Dean calmly moved into Castiel, sinking each time with deeper thrusts that shook both bodies. Castiel increased the pressure on his legs and took advantage of his position to push Dean with the force of his lower limbs deeper into his body.

He sought Dean’s hand between the warmth of their bodies and intertwined it with his own, feeling the smile of the human on his lips.

Every push, every breath, every thrill was a new sensation for Castiel and every slightest human reaction to his superficial touches amazed him

A moan came out of both of their lips and Dean could feel Castiel’s muscles tightening around his member, while he tried to push him even deeper into his own body.

Taking him by the back, Dean lifted them both up so that now, in a new position, Dean was sitting with Castiel embracing him.

Dean brushed hands on his large shoulders and, hearing Castiel’s deep grunt, he knew to have found an erogenous zone, probably due to the attachment of his wings. Castiel, still trembling above him for the contact, began to groan words that Dean did not know.

He initially thought them to be whimpers and confused groans, before recognizing that it actually was a language he did not knew. He continued to touch that part of his body, whimpering at the sounds and words that Castiel uttered as he could hear his member throbbing within the body of the other.

The thrusts got stronger and Dean adjusting under him, finally hit his prostate

«Fuck, Dean» Castiel growled and Dean, hearing his words, sunk impossibly deeper inside his body with a groan. To feel a creature of God use those words and to use them because of something that Dean had made increased the rhythm of the hunter who now pushed upwards met by Castiel’s sinking downs.

«Dean, Dean» he began to call with a lament and Dean knew from the erratic thrusts with which the angel was meeting his owns that he was near. Castiel sank his head on Dean’s shoulder, holding him in a dismembered embrace as he hit the spot that had made him scream over and over again until the heat that had grown in him until then freed himself in the form of white liquid that spilled on both his and Dean’s stomach. Dean moved inside him for a few more moments before doing the same and panting openly, trying to catch his breath.

  


Castiel moved onto Dean’s body, curiously analyzing the sticky substance leaking from their bodies. Then, exhausted, he laid on the bed next to Dean, not uttering a word, with his bare chest rising and lowering. He saw the man at his side smiling.

Dean felt a new sensation running through his body, his heart, his mind. A rare sensation, known and abandoned for too many years of his life. He continued to smile as what he believed to be happiness finally crossed his mind.

«Why are you smiling?» he asked and Dean shook his head as he looked at the ceiling, continuing to keep a mocking expression in his face.

Castiel retreated and imagined that if he still had wings, those would now be ruffled. He loved to see Dean smile, but in the context in which they were, he found the sight to be inconsistent and had disoriented him. When, asked again , Dean shook his head once more , keeping the smile on his face, Castiel could not help but feel even more confused.

«Dean.. did I do something wrong?»

Dean turned around, while snorting confused «What? No» he said, grinning «Absolutely not» he continued approaching Castiel with a grin. Placing himself over his body, he stared at him with bravado before speaking again «Was that Enochian?» asked, therefore, with malice. Castiel’s face dried slightly and turned his eyes «Maybe» he whispered then. The smile widened on Dean’s face with boldness, before laying small and chaste kisses on the angel’s face.

And Castiel smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was so scared to post this chapter so i really really hope you all will like it <3


	9. 9.

Warm. Dean felt warm. That kind of warmth that hovers like an aura over the whole extension of the body, without being able to figure out where it begins and ends because each piece is surrounded by it as much as the other. That envelops the skin like a layer of fabric, gloating it over of a brightness that now seems to lit without suffocating it. That illuminates and colours and surrounds without any thrill to veil it, but that seeks and reaches and paints that strip of skin that until then had been shaken by a tremor. That kind of heat that you beg for on a winter’s day, when hands quiver under such cold gloves and all you can wish for is a slice of sun that would surround the world, while looking for a place where the proven frost can only become a memory.

He breathed softly, lying in that bubble of energy that he felt encircling his body; in that smell that now penetrated his nostrils and that he intoxicated calmly, as if this could have ended if he had dared to take more than he should.

He felt light touches along his arms, his neck, his shoulders, like caresses that someone was too afraid to manifest and were limited to just pronounced brushes; fingers that lingered faintly along his own torso.

He growled at the touch and felt the barely articulated hints of contact stopping for a few moments, before continuing , faintly, their paths.

And when Morpheus' arms seemed to hold him a little less and his mind began to become more present and aware of the outside world, Dean opened his eyes weakly, just before still shut, letting them get used to the light.

He became aware of Castiel’s chest under his cheek, and of the manner in which it rose and lowered cautiously, of his own arm surrounding the body of the other in a broken embrace, of the legs that laid in a corner of the sheets and of the small and feeble touches of the man who had now crossed his gaze.

«Cas..» said Dean in a whisper, feeling unable to pronounce anything else.

Castiel was there, with him, wrapped in an embrace that he himself had begun, having slept with the face on his torso. The dark hair framed his face and his blue eyes shone in the dim darkness of the room with an intensity that seemed stolen from the sea itself. 

«Dean»

He did not know how to move, nor what to say while Castiel looked at him silently with his name still on his slightly-parted lips.

And Dean realized, all of a sudden, that there were probably no words to say, there was nothing he must be doing. Castiel wasn’t judging him for the silence they were sharing, he hadn’t left that night, leaving a hole in the bed like nothing ever really happened. He hadn’t wandered off when his lips had kept looking for his, when their breaths had blended within movements that Dean had had no trouble admitting to himself, when he had touched those scars with the same light brushes that only a few moments before had bordered his skin, when their eyes had collided for one last time before Dean had closed his eyes.

Suddenly, the even more certain realization that everything that had happened had been mutual struck Dean like a jet of cold water.

Castiel had wanted it as much as Dean.

He abandoned the body of the angel, placing himself on the sheets and turning his face towards the one who had followed his movements with circumspection. He approached, slowly, like a tiger meditating on his attack, and fastened his eyes with those of Castiel; both faces laterally turned in looking at the other on the only pillow present in the room.

It was intimate. Still they were not touching. There were no hands on the other’s body, faint caresses or small touches to occupy their spaces. They were there, gaze held , a faded smile on their lips and the silence that filled those words that still seemed to struggle to get out.

And Dean felt this was harder than what he had done the previous night. Staring into Castiel’s eyes and realizing that this was really happening; the sinking of his own body into a sea that knew no depth; the scrutinizing of those lips, pink and slightly chapped, and the remembering of how they had touched his own, of the sighs they had uttered.

Dean feels like he’s naked. And not because he actually is, there, in the bed, with the sheets abandoned at the end of it, with the clothes scattered over the cold floor, with him being in permanent contact with the underlying fabric and a breeze that colours his skin, now that it is not on the angel’s body; but it is because neither of them is talking and Dean feels that they are saying everything. Because Castiel is falling into his eyes as much as Dean is falling into his and, as they study each other in that new distance, Dean thinks he can’t hide anything. He hears his eyes delving into his own and dancing with whatever Dean is feeling at the moment, unable to repress the waves that strike his heart.

But Castiel is not talking, he is not forcing him to express anything, and even if Dean feels that he is still naked in front of him, now he is not, however , so afraid and is grateful for the silent warmth of which he feels the atmosphere wrapped.

« You snort when you sleep » Castiel declared, breaking the silence that had arisen.

Dean frowned his forehead, incredulous « I do not snort » he cleared with firmness and a visibly offended expression « You snort»

«Dean, I do not sleep»

Okay, maybe that hadn’t been his most brilliant reply.

« Well you... you radiate heat. Seems to sleep next to a fuckin’ radiator »

«Is it something that bothers you? » he asked, scrutinizing him.

«Very much» Dean said, lying. It was indeed true that Castiel had a warm body, probably due to the energy and angelic grace that flowed within the vessel, but it was not something that had bothered him. It was rather a pleasant warmth.

«And I guess that’s why you’ve been clinging to me all night »

Dean felt a redness colouring his cheeks «Oh, shut up», he commented, sinking his head into the hollow of his neck and letting himself be carried away by the smell of rain that Castiel carried with him.

« You burn » he muttered then, with his face still hidden in the same previous position, remarking the words just before said «My freaking personal heater »

Castiel giggled and Dean gave in to the sound, drifting away in the angel’s fingers drawing uncertain scribbles on his own body as moments of silence regained control.

«Cas, I cannot do this to you» he grumbled feebly, letting his mouth express the same thoughts that ran violently within his mind.

The angel watched him, silent, waiting for Dean to continue.

Maybe for once everything would be fine, maybe he deserved to be happy, to be with someone he really cared about, to let his heart take over all the responsabilities that followed him day and night in his worst nightmares along with a past that he would gladly forget about.

He looked at the mark: red and towering on his arm.

«All the people that get close to me, Cas they... I can’t... I don’t want it to be like that with you. I care too much about you to let such a thing happen. And if it does happen I know.. I know that I would never forgive myself»

«Dean» Castiel scrutinized him fondly; a note of sadness gleaming on his face. He lingered with his fingers on the hunter’s chest for a few moments, before laying a hand at the height of his heart. Dean closed his eyes.

«You’re not all the pain you think you’ve caused»

Dean breathed deeply into the words, looking at the angel in front of him.

The shadow of a constant thought that told him he should not indulge in this kind of relationship, that he did not deserve the man in front of him, that it would have been better for both of them if things had gone back to the way they were before, was lost at the same time that his eyes met Castiel’s .

Because Dean was scared. He felt this gutting the inside of his body, and striking, lightning, all its parts and yet, in front of the trusting and firm look of the angel, this almost seemed to wane.

He put his hand over Castiel’s, still on his chest, and felt his knuckles trembling slightly at the touch, still so new.

«Why me? » asked Dean; the voice cracked while a sob was arised in his throat.

«You are a creature who has lived for billions of years, known all the stages of humanity, any mind, any soul, every freaking possible generation… Why me? »

Castiel felt those words broke him; the manifestation of that process of self-loathing that Dean used to remark so much that he did not see how special the people around him viewed him as.

«Because you are colourful»

Dean scrutinized him, confused, looking in Castiel’s eyes for something that could help him understand what he had just said «What? »

«Angels are not a specie programmed to have human feelings, Dean. When I became human, the emotions were too much to support and resulted as confusing. To distinguish them I started to divide them into colours. So that when I perceived a bad feeling I identified it with a dark, cold tone or one that I didn’t particularly like and vice versa for when I felt pleasant vibrations» Castiel explained, holding the hunter’s gaze.

«You are colourful. You have a bit of black inside you too , but that doesn’t hide all that you are»

Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, bewildered by the words he had heard, and, moving from the position he was in, he urgently joined his lips with Castiel’s in a desperate kiss that expressed all the inner disorientation of the hunter. He abandoned himself completely to the contact, certain that in words he would never really be able to declare everything he felt at that moment.

He pulled away , catching his breath.

Maybe, for once, everything would have turned out just fine.

« How does the word "boyfriend" sound to you as a new nickname? »

Castiel looked at him amused, tilting his face « Are you aware that this means that you cannot continue to pick up every girl who greets you in bars? »

Dean lit up with a stunned expression on his face, before tilting his head slightly, shaking his shoulders, raising his hands and casually saying : « In this case I withdraw everything»

«Deannnn» said Castiel, dragging the name for some syllables with a bored tone.

Dean smiled and placed a small kiss on the corner of his lips «I’m kidding, there’s only you, angel» he said with a grin as he watched Castiel roll his eyes «...And Kelly, that blondie who asked for my number the other d-»

If looks could burn, Dean was sure he would have turned dust.

«Okay, okay» he laughed, putting a chaste kiss on Castiel’s lips, giving in to the warmth of his body.

The other’s gaze studied him for a few more moments: still and impassive; before letting a small smile frame his face.

Dean touched the steering wheel imitating the rhythm of an old rock song while Sam remained silent in the seat next to his.

When they had got up and headed to the kitchen, Sam had advised Dean to take a day off and distract himself from what had happened the day before and had proposed to go out and eat something.

Dean had smiled at his brother’s attentions. There was still a slight tension between them: a line that he had to be careful not to cross.

The first week that Dean had returned to the bunker, they had avoided seeing each other in the morning and, in a regulation not issued by either of them, but silently shared, they had been in the presence of the other only when strictly necessary, trying to adapt to those spaces again with caution . As the days went by, things had gradually improved and Sam seemed to have come to trust Dean again. They were small moments that came with care and filled the hearts of both, in the hope that things would return as they used to be.

Castiel had had to reject Sam’s proposal to join them, calling for his duties as the commander of the newly created faction that had been experiencing complications with the new recruited soldiers.

He had , therefore, headed to the car, thanking Sam and greeting Dean with a small wave of his hand.

He felt, as he pressed the accelerator of the car, that the new fear of confrontation was crushing him from the inside.

«Sam...» he began cautiously with his voice struggling to sustain the weight of words.

The younger brother turned to him, with questioning eyes.

Dean crossed his gaze for a few moments, before returning to look at the road ahead.

He tightened his grape at the steering wheel. «What...» he swallowed loudly «What do you think mom and dad would have thought of me if they had known... well, if they had known that I am not, you know...» he deeply breathed in «one-hundred percent straight? »

The silence that followed submerged Dean at every moment that passed. He felt the brother’s gaze on his face, and although he believed it would be better to meet his eyes and try to guess what reaction he had had to the unexpected words, Dean felt like he was not able to turn around.

Sam cleared his throat «I think it would take dad some time to accept it... I never met mom, but she certainly would have supported you» he said, letting the words wander for a few moments before starting again «But I think, Dean, that with whatever person you would have decided to be with, both would have loved you unconditionally»

Dean squinted his eyes, exhaling a sigh that he had held back for too long.

The silence fell timidly before being again veiled by the hunter who now felt the fear flow more strongly within the body.

«And you, what would you think? »

Sam looked at him in disbelief, and smiled sweetly at his brother «Dean, you’re my brother. Do you really think I would love you any less just because you are into guys too? »

Dean felt the knuckles of the hands turning white «I don’t... I don’t know, I mean. All the fights we had in these years... I thought that maybe-»

«You’re the most important person to me, Dean, and you always will be. Don’t think for a second that you don’t matter to me anymore»

Dean nodded slowly, letting his brother’s words quietly penetrate his mind.

He forced a laugh, ignoring the tremor of his body and the mind that repeated incessantly, in a state of pure joy and dismay, " Sam accepts me the way I am "

«Okay, now you’re getting too chick-flick for my taste»

Sam shook his head, snorting a laugh «Jerk»

« Bitch»

Dean smiled and felt his hands quiver for the next step he was going to take.

«Indeed» he began, cautious «I think that mom and dad would have had more difficulty in accepting the fact that I am with an angel, compared to the fact that I am also into males.. »

He turned to his brother, seeing the look on his face change. The concern that had so far dismayed his own face faded, and he tried to hold back a laugh.

« Don’t you think? »

Sam gasped in amazement and Dean let his mouth give out a little laugh at the sight to which he was subjected

«Are you telling me that you are with Castiel? »

Dean nodded. Sam put his hand through his hair.

«Castiel, Castiel? Our best friend? »

He repeated the same action as before, trying to keep a serious expression on his face

« How long ? »

«Yesterday night»

Silence.

«Geez, Dean, took you long enough»

Dean smiled, looking back to the road

«Yeah well.. it had always been kind of a complicated relationship»

Sam rolled his eyes « No, Dean is that you both are idiots. Who did what? »

« Woah there , Sammy, do you think these are questions you can just ask ? » said Dean, choking a laugh

«What? Ew no.., I meant who finally took the initiative»

«Oh, me»

Sam shrugged, looking out the window, still baffled in embarrassment

« Would have bet on Cas»

Dean laughed tenderly and turned the wheel to the right, changing direction.

«I’m happy for you, Dean. Castiel is a good person.. » he reasoned about the term used, shaking his face « Well, whatever. You get it»

Dean, having crossed his brother’s gaze, smiled before turning to the road. The anguish he felt freed his body, allowing only the lightness now perceived to envelop him.


	10. 10.

Dean, on the ground at the end of the bed, had lowered on Castiel’s body slowly, brushing the soft skin of his torso and thighs. He unbuttoned his pants and leaned over the naked body of the other.

He swallowed loudly at the sight and at the silent anticipation of what was about to happen. He grazed Castiel’s member with one hand, feeling this writhing under his feeble touch, and with one last look at the one who had now closed his eyes, he approached this with his mouth. He sighed directly at the tip and heard Castiel gasp with a broken breath when his tongue came into contact with the length.

Dean whimpered, focusing on the new sensation he now perceived on his mouth, closed with his lips surrounding the angel’s cock, with laments wandering around the room.

The hunter moved, encircling with his lips a new area further away than the previous one, making it disappear deeper inside his mouth and moving his tongue in circular movements as far as he could get. He opened his eyes and saw Castiel, eyes still closed and mouth ajar, trembling under his touch, gasping with small groans that poured down upon Dean’s skin with force.

He sucked, savouring the taste between his lips while the tongue played to lick every part of it. Castiel surrendered in the feeling, the way Dean’s lips were touching him, the jolts his body was subjected to when the hunter twisted his tongue in a different way than those previously felt.

«Dean» exhaled Castiel above him, while the hunter brushed his lips over the other’s tip «Dean... wait»

Dean looked up again, the green eyes shining in the darkness of the room, meeting his panting face, and raised an eyebrow from his position, questioning.

He left Castiel’s member with a pop of his lips and was surprised when the other bent down and brought him to bed without any obvious effort, stooping over him. Maybe he was stronger than he had expected.

The angel moved on his body with confidence, as if he knew every little part of it and nibbled a strip of skin under his ear; his hands wandered over , stroking every point.

«Cas» grumbled Dean, trying to free himself from his position and regain control. Castiel ignored the protests of the other, kissing a small scar on the left rib, holding the body of the other under his own, and continuing to leave small nibbles at different points of his neck.

Dean gasped in a heavy breath under him, his eyes closed, submerged in the sensation that his body was having while Castiel was above him; in the awareness of being powerless under the body of the angel.

«Cas » said Dean again with a grunt, squirming.

He felt the weight of the angel on top of him, the big hands wandering on his torso and descending and returning up again, the lips that marked him. Castiel moved on Dean’s body slowly, kissing every corner with open and wet lips, sighing on his inner thigh, touching a nipple with the hands, searching between his fingers the hunter’s body and taking all the time necessary to perceive the other’s small broken breath in touching this or that part.

And suddenly, with a glaring redness on his face and without being able to hold those words between his lips, Dean was praying.

«Cas, please,» he said, drawing the other’s attention. He looked away when he met the angel’s eyes, whom tilted his head innocently, despite the small grin that framed his lips.

«Please what, Dean? »

A sigh broke in his throat. " That kinky son of a bitch," thought Dean. Castiel was teasing him by every means possible, and Dean could feel his own member, only rarely fondled faintly by the other, pulsing with greater force at every little touch, with the hoarse voice and somehow deeper tonality than usual with which Castiel had spoken.

He felt a redness rising violently on his cheeks and found himself completely unable to answer the question asked, too embarrassed by the turn that the situation had taken to be able to express what he really wanted and so, at the same time, stubbornly concealed.

He squirmed again while Castiel uttered small and sweet praises among barely murmured whispers on the body of the other, whom heavily panted .

Dean, powerless and without uttering a word, averted his eyes and, hiding his red face from the embarrassment of the angel’s bright and attentive eyes, stretched a hand toward the drawer of the bedside table, opening it and passing a box to the man above him.

Castiel looked for his gaze, still diverted, for a few moments before opening the lubricant with a snap and dipping a finger inside.

«Dean» called Castiel in a whisper, quietly moving the pillow that Dean had previously placed on his own face to cover himself. He abandoned the pillow not far from his face, was still fixed in looking, turned away, to the room’s walls «Dean, look at me»

The hunter turned slowly, sighing and held his gaze.

Castiel looked at him with tenderness from his position, the fond eyes and the mouth coloured by a small, shy smile.

He let that look lull him for a moment, before slowly nodding to the question implicitly posed with a broad sigh. Castiel kissed him gently and touched his opening with a circulatory movement.

He squeezed his legs in an impulsive motion when the first finger entered inside and winced from the annoying intrusion. Castiel, without abandoning his lips, sometimes broken by heavy breaths and sighs, moved slowly his finger back and forth, in the memory of what Dean had done with him last time.

It was vulnerable to be there, with the legs slightly open and eyes closed in deep kisses, and to feel the most hidden parts of his own body being touched for the first time in small movements. Yet, Castiel’s lips were soft on his and the fingers that timidly stroked his cheek seemed to compensate for the movements of the other hand.

He trembled when the angel placed a second finger and felt a heat pervading his body as he adjusted on the other’s, trying to control his quick and broken breaths. And when, finally, as slowly as the other two had entered, Dean felt a third finger inside his opening, he felt his body quiver with anticipation as he urgently sought the other and was kissed by the same with an intrinsic genuine and true passion.

He closed his eyes when the other carefully removed his fingers and suddenly felt empty. He looked at Castiel: the vivid blue eyes, bright and greedy, the red lips, the chest rising and lowering under the defined muscles.

He raised his pelvis in his direction and sought greater contact, while he lowered himself on his body without looking away. And Castiel breathed on his neck, on the collar bone as he sat on Dean’s torso and kissed just under his neck and squeezed the thighs with powerful hands.

He felt his member pulsating under his gaze and pouring pre-come under his kisses, under the wait that made the urgency increase, quiver every part of his and curl the toes. From his position, he could see the angel’s torso rising and lowering and, suddenly, the fact that a divine creature was about to enter his body became clearer in Dean’s mind. The fact that it was Castiel, whom only a short time before had sought among veiled gestures.

And instead now, the same one he’d met in the abandoned barn five years ago and who he had studied with perplexity, was staring at him while positioning himself to unite in a way that Dean would never have believed possible.

And when Castiel’s tip grazed his opening, Dean realized it was all too much. His member throbbed hard and he came with a guttural sound. He opened his eyes in a gasp, breathing eagerly with his mouth open.

«Shit» said Dean, covering his face with his hands in shame as he tried to calm the residue of the orgasm with which he had come before actually doing something.

He felt Castiel’s curious and bewildered look upon him as he pulled his hands away from his face to look at him.

He kissed a cheek with a chaste kiss «You’re beautiful when you come»

Dean snorted for the umpteenth compliment, hearing the cheeks go completely on fire «Yep well, would have preferred a little later»

«Why?»

«Because I already had an orgasm, Cas» he commented, frowning «I wanted to come... » looked away «while you were umm.. inside me»

«I don’t think it will be a problem to make you come twice» he whispered in his ear, before kissing him gently on the lips. Dean’s pupils widened in hearing what Castiel had just said and the way, totally in contrast, that he was still gently touching his body , and all of a sudden, he was just as sure of it.

He wanted Castiel. He wanted him inside. He wanted his hands and lips in every place. He swirled his pelvis, gasping and trying to reach a deeper contact with the angel and, without a slight redness leaving his face, he saw Castiel positioning himself again. He felt the tiredness of his limbs and yet he opened his legs again, feeling a new excitement making his way down into his body.

Dean sighed with anxiety, gritting his teeth as Castiel, now, slowly inserted himself into his opening, breathing, mouth open, in search of air for the mixture of pain and pleasure he was feeling.

He moved his body, trying to adjust himself on the member of Castiel who in the meantime disappeared, inch by inch, within his own body. The thought of it gave sent a shiver.

He lowered his face, seeing the manner in which the body of the angel adhered to his and groaned at the sight. He tried to ignore the slight discomfort he felt at the bottom of his body and concentrated on the gaze of who looked at him tenderly under a desire palpable to both.

He panted , feeling suddenly full as new sensations made their way throughout his body.

Then, slowly, Castiel began to move.

The hunter threw his head back, feeling the way the muscles of his arse tightened around the member, as the one pulsated inside him filling and leaving with constancy.

«Ag-Cas» he roared among the thrusts of the angel, hearing his member wake up under the sound of their bodies meeting, under the loving gaze of Castiel, under the way the length of the angel penetrated him each time more deeply.

«Did I hurt you?» And seeing the way Dean shook his head violently as a sign of denial, he resumed the movement , drowning in every heat perceived.

«Nnhh» the hunter murmured, sighing heavily. Castiel kissed him, sinking completely and felt different vibrations in his body when Dean groaned between his lips.

There was something about the way the angel was moving around inside Dean that made him think he was releasing energy. As if all the divine power that he possessed were unleashed among them. He felt clean.

He breathed again, pushing Castiel more strongly toward his own body and abandoning himself to that speed that grew, grew, grew without Dean being able to do anything but ask for more, utterly incapable of forbidding those words to come out of his mouth with so much need and desire and despair

Then, Castiel touched a spot in Dean’s body that made the hunter gasp and made him squeeze his body tightly, raising his knees to the ears for better access.

«Dean» whispered Castiel gasping, closing his eyes and lowering his face for a moment

«Fuck. Again. Again» he gasped. And he could do nothing but be there, below him and groan and murmur incoherent and meaningless sounds while Castiel pushed hard inside, hitting his prostate with every sinking. His member pulsed and suddenly Dean realized he was close.

And all that came out of the hunter’s mouth, from that moment on, was the name of Castiel among heavy breaths. And every syllable of his name reminded him that it was actually Castiel the one above him, who pushed himself forcefully inside and the hunter felt completely submerged to. And how could he not be?: it was in the heat and energy that he emanated, in the blue eyes that looked at him with an emotion that Dean was afraid to identify with a name.

Yet it was there, obvious, and the more he looked at him, the more he understood that his eyes were also expressing the same feeling.

Castiel. Castiel. Castiel.

And as the angel plunged into him with a final sinking, and Dean could feel his body being released with his own, he heard a sudden noise in the darkness of the room, which he could not care about while holding himself forcefully to the body of the angel, gasping for air.

They both breathed on each other’s bodies, tired limbs and languorous eyes, while sticky fluids spread among their bodies, united in one.

«Amen» murmured Dean with a grin and his eyes still big as he caught his breath.

Castiel shook his face and fell upon him, snorting a little laugh, breathing just as eagerly. Dean, the torso rising and lowering swiftly, with the angel’s face between his shoulder and his own face, caressed his body.

He moved his head around the corners of the room, looking for the source of what he had previously heard.

«What was that noise?»

«Hmm.. I think I broke a light bulb» murmured Castiel in his arms.

Dean laughed, slightly raising Castiel’s naked body to get a glimpse of his face.

«You were saying my name as if it were a prayer...I think I got a little too excited » he murmured. Dean giggled again, kissing him gently. He felt so carefree that it almost hurt to think that everything he had to face every day limited such a feeling.

He was happy, there with Castiel in his arms and with the knowledge that at that moment there were just the two of them. The world disappeared and with it all the pain and worries arising.

He stroked with his hand the angel’s torso, looking at the man above him, completely succumbing to what he was feeling. And yet, no matter how hard he felt them push into him, he didn’t dare to say them out loud.

«I won» whispered then Castiel amused, watching him.

Dean raised his eyebrows with confusion.

«You came twice»

The hunter shook his head, smiling extensively «It’s your mojo’s fault » commented, raising his eyes.

«Didn’t seem like you were complaining a while ago» he replied, glaring at the grimace on his lips «Well actually yes, you were complaining but in a pleasant way»

Dean hid his face in his hands «You’re such an idiot»

Castiel kissed him «I am just saying that we angels are not used to sexual encounters»

Dean snorted «Jesus, Cas. Don’t call it that».

Castiel looked at him, curious thinned his gaze «...To make love?»

Dean loudly swallowed the choice of terms used and eventually sighed «Yes, Cas» he murmured looking away, embracing him and hiding his face behind the large shoulders «To make love»

«Anyways, making an angel come twice is more difficult than a human», he commented.

«Why?» Dean asked, confused, still thinking of the innocence with which Castiel had defined all this and how excited and disoriented he felt at the same time hearing his words

«I think it has to do with what I told you before about angels and the fact that our essences are contained in vessels»

Dean nodded, thinking about what Castiel had just told him. Noticing the smile on the other’s face, he began to speak again

«Are you challenging me?» he then instigated, looking at him and laying a hand firmly on his thigh. Castiel looked forward from his hand to his face «Could be» he replied, laying his hand on Dean’s and advancing it downward.

Blood poured down on his hands as the blade that Dean held was sinking heavily into the bodies of the empty-faced people. It was dark and he heard shouting. Shouting, shouting and shouting. And with each scream more powerful, more concrete than the previous one, the hunter felt his body quiver with the desire to fuel those same screams. The victims' eyes are dull, and Dean wonders if that’s the case for a moment. If, indeed, the emotions of those very faces that he is hitting with force are totally indifferent to the actions he is doing, or if his perspective, as a filter, is not making him see reality. Whatever this is really about, however, Dean decides, he doesn’t care. The sound of the flesh that contracts itself against the blade, the far cry of a child, the desperate growling of a body on the ground, the hand of a being that restrains it, praying not to be killed, and the way the weapon easily disappears inside this is enough to realize that dull or vivid, those eyes do not interest him.

He feels the need to kill, to strike. Hungry, he heads for the prey and the beats them until the latter exhales his last breath and falls on the floor, cold. He caresses a corner of the face, feeling life escaping fleetingly.

He dances and kills, body after body, like a bee advancing from flower to flower. He strikes, smiles and continues. He does not go back, he does not stop to look, to give a last glance to those who now, tremble on the ground damning the one who took away their lives, but he advances, undaunted, until the blade he holds is not dripping with blood. Red blood, vivid, running on the ground, staining and soiling the world. Venous blood, dense enough to look black, that hides and embraces his hands and colours the clothes of the same intensity, expanding into a pool that seems to have no end.

Dean sweats, sweats and shouts and moves. He sees the faces blur between his own fingers and screams, when with a gasp he pulls himself up. The mouth open to catch breath in an empty and cold bed.

He runs into the bathroom and throws up. He looks at himself in the mirror and trembles. The mark pulsating on his arm. Red as the blood he had seen dripping from his own hands in the nightmare that seemed far too vivid. He wants to look away, let his eyes focus on something other than the greedy mark on his body, and yet he feels he can’t. He looks for someone, while his arms are pervaded by the umpteenth tremor and they hold strongly to the sink. Castiel is not there.

He had to go take care of the faction a few hours before he had fell asleep, and now, full of sweat and fear, Dean cries in terror. He looks for Sam and a scream remains in his throat, while he collapses on the floor and gasps for air. He covers the mark on his arm with a towel. The mark that until now he had failed to stop looking at , and bowed his head, trembling, and clenched his fists to the sides of the body.

He shivers, alone, on the bathroom floor, unable to call Sam or pray to Castiel to come there. All he can think about is the blood that coloured his clothes, the dead eyes of the victims, and the copious shouts that now thunder in his head as in a night of storm , the desire to feel a hot body becoming cold in his hands. And now, as he tries to regain control, as he trembles in a corner, he feels that he is trembling with the same lust that his body had so greedily sought before.


	11. 11.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to clarify that in the first half of this chapter there will be a headcanon about a female character of the series which I had once read about on instagram. The descriptions and dialogues are mine of course, but the idea of this dialogue was inspired by this post that I can't found anymore. if anyone knows pls let me know so that i can give proper credit :)

«Who’s that ?» Castiel asked with docile curiosity, showing the photo he had found in the wallet of the younger Winchester.

He had came back in the afternoon, a tired expression on his face, and he had fallen on the chair in front of Sam, sitting at the table as he browsed through the pages of an ancient book. That one had then asked him to take the wallet, placed a few meters from where he was, and to pass it to him so that he could take the piece of paper contained and dial the number written above. Sam had called the number on the phone keys as he passed a hand through his hair while a yawn seized his face.

The wallet, brown and leather-bound, had remained in the hands of Castiel, who had begun to study its texture on his skin. The voice of Sam asking for information from a librarian about the presence of a rare book dealing specifically with the story of the firstborn of the lineage of Adam and Eve in the library had accompanied his fingers, that had followed the curious inside of the object, scrutinizing the numerous credit cards contained, the various receipts and a photo in particular, carefully folded in one of the many slots.

Having finished the call, with a deep sigh for the negative feedback he had had, Sam turned to Castiel, who scrutinized with attention and respect a small photo; the corners folded . The other’s face changed as he heard the question asked and the jaw, tight with the teeth that scraped among, accentuated the emotion on the face of the hunter, the eyes fixed in the image.

He swallowed, passing his tongue between the suddenly dry lips «Her name was Jessica» he said with a sigh and both tried to ignore the way the name had been spoken with difficulty.

Castiel shifted his gaze from the photo to Sam’s face. A shadow wandered through his mind: he felt as he had already seen her.

«She was my girlfriend back when I was in college»

The angel nodded, thinning his eyes, concentrated. Sam strained a smile, his mouth pulled into a side bend and his eyes crying a memory that he lived every day.

«She looks lovely» whispered Castiel, looking at the girl portrayed: her blond hair, wavy at the end, fell soft on her shoulders while a spontaneous smile lit her face. She was laughing at something and was looking right at the camera, the pink T-shirt matching the clip in her hair.

«Yeah, she was» murmured Sam, clearing the voice that had previously cracked «I wanted to marry her, you know?» He whispered and frowned, while a smile born on his face « Now that I think about it, I was very young, yet I felt that she was the one for me. I was just waiting for the moment to ask her»

Silence broke down before Sam, and as he glanced away, he continued to speak «Then, Dean came to see me and told me that Dad had disappeared. We solved a case and when we got home, she was... burning, on the ceiling. Just like our mother»

Castiel studied the other. He could feel the energy inside Sam’s body swinging, his eyes shining with faded tears as he talked about the girl he had now finally realized he had already actually met. He felt a dull rage running through his body: it was like observing a lamp, the source of its light vivid and sparkling , and seeing small insects looking for that same one with enthusiasm without knowing that the heat would end up burning them. It was seeing vulnerability in the world and feeling helpless about the course of things. It was in the children who play and jump and move and trample, unaware, of the ants below. It was in a plough that breaks the stem of a newborn flower. It was in a child being left for the first time in a school, big and full of other children like him, and seeing this, holed up in a corner, feeling, at the same time, so different.

«And the worst thing is that I had dreamed for days that all this would happen. And I said nothing»

It was in a feeling , born in his chest, annoying and pungent and in the most certain awareness of not being the one who has the power to turn off that light.

«Later I discovered that some demons had introduced us in the first place»

«Sam, it wasn’t your fault» Castiel firmly said, looking for the other’s gaze. He noticed his trembling hand, the face reduced to a grimace, and waited a few moments before telling him what he knew. «We have so many souls in heaven that sometimes it is difficult to remember each individual»

That one crossed his eyes, a shy curiosity painted on the face.

«Sam, Jessica is fine. Her paradise is full of memories with you»

Sam closed his eyes, frowning again. He would have liked to know more, to ask him what she did up there; if she still smiled as she used, her teeth gleaming and the nose curled, if the biscuits she baked were just as good, and whether she relived her old memories with joy or with a bitter nostalgia that covered the flavour. And yet all he could say was: «Thank you for telling me, Cas»

The hope that Jessica was okay was something he had never thought he could actually be certain of. The fear that had grew and grew in the later years that she might feel some kind of anger towards him for being involved in her death, though not directly, had forced him to bed for days, when every part of him could not help but feel damned, and now, as Castiel had told him that he was there too, among her best memories, it had weakened ; and that fear that had grown in him almost to become a conviction, was replaced by nostalgia alone.

He took a deep breath « I don’t talk about it often, but I miss her. I miss her so much»

Castiel sketched a little smile « I am sure she misses you too»

The silence that followed lasted for a few minutes. Minutes in which Castiel put the photo in Sam’s wallet and in which he felt on his own skin the look of the other while performing that action with care. Minutes when Sam breathed through the pages of the biblical book again, his eyes fixed on it and his mind elsewhere. Minutes when Castiel looked, from time to time, at the hallway from where they were sitting, trying to catch in a glimpse of those spaces Dean, that he hadn’t been able to see since he had arrived bunker, and minutes in which Sam noticed every look he took in that direction.

« I think he’s still in the shower» he commented therefore, drawing the attention of the angel « After last night I think he needed a few extra hours of rest»

Castiel looked at him, puzzled and straightened his body on the back of the chair, implicitly asking the other to continue.

«He didn’t say much.. but I had gone to the kitchen and heard some noises from the bathroom. I went to check and Dean was on the ground shaking» he murmured, remembering the way his brother kept rubbing his hands between them, the gasps between broken breaths.

«A nightmare. Didn’t say anything else »

Castiel lowered his face slightly, uncertain of what to say. He had not been present last night, engaged with the army and plans for a civil war that had already been going on for too long, and now , feeling that Dean had had a moment of extreme difficulty in which he had not been present caused a strong pain in his stomach, while worry drowned his mind.

Then, heavy steps in their direction made him turn.

«Hey, Cas» said the older Winchester , approaching «Sam»

And they both refused to believe the smile that he displayed on his face

«How do you feel? » Castiel asked, rising with an abrupt movement from the chair and meeting the hunter who, sensing the concern in the tone and look of the other, turned to Sam. The fake smile slowly faded from his face.

«Did you tell him? » he asked and, receiving a nod of approval from his brother, under the watchful gaze of Castiel, breathed a sigh before speaking again «Can you give us a moment? »

«Sure» the other murmured then, rising from where he was sitting and vanishing into the depths of the dwelling. Dean tried to ignore the title of the book that his brother held scrupulously in his hands.

Dean began, inhaling deeply and tightening his jaw «How are things between angels, hm? Any news? »

«Why didn’t you call me? » interrogated Castiel, ignoring the question, thinning his eyes. Dean didn’t answer.

«Last night when you had the nightmare, why didn’t you call me?» he repeated, his voice controlled and deep.

Castiel again thinned his gaze «Dean» he pronounced annoyed as he tried to meet the eyes of the other, who constantly lost track of it by peering at the floor below.

He observed him for a few moments «It was about the mark , wasn’t it? »

Dean’s expression cracked and turned instinctively towards a point on his forearm, hidden by the flannel shirt he was wearing. It was a moment, a matter of seconds, and yet he felt Castiel’s gaze following that miserable movement. He met his eyes, worried and inquisitors, and squeezed his lips, annoyed, before turning his face away from his and heading to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of beer, frozen on his own skin. He sighed again and closed his eyes for a few moments feeling the presence of Castiel behind him.

«Cas, I really don’t want to talk about it» he said with a harsh and determined tone, closing the fridge door with more force than necessary and leaning against the kitchen table with his back.

He looked at Castiel and all he could see were the faces of the people he had killed in the nightmare, who he had _enjoyed_ killing as if it were some kind of game, while a grin spread on his face. He held the bottle, cold and tightly in his hands, and felt the heat of the blood dripping from these, warm and dense.

He felt the fabric of the shirt on his skin and the heat that enveloped him and suddenly all he could feel was the sweat that the night before had wet his clothes, clean and bloodless, but that had attached themselves to his body like a second skin, as if to remind him of the actions he had carried out with that feeling of humid harassment surrounding him.

Castiel laid his hand upon his arm, and sought the hunter’s attention, and though it was not the limb where where the mark was drawn on , Dean abruptly retracted as in a reflex felt too late and perceived the tremor to which his body had been subjected the previous evening, when he had had to hold onto the sink to not collapse. «I told you I don’t want to talk about it» He cried out in a rage, feeling in a memory his body give in, overcome by a tremor, and swoop to the ground; the impotence he had felt.

Castiel did not flinch, but, if possible, his gaze became even more inquisitive and studied the hunter, analyzing every small reaction. He came closer to Dean, in front of him, as fingernails penetrated the palms of his hand.

«I am fine» said the other in a feeble whisper, feeling the weight of the angel’s gaze, but he heard his own voice wavering at the words.

«That’s not true», Castiel murmured, getting a little closer.

Dean sighed «Cas.. this mark, this.. power could be useful to defeat Metadron... to take back your grace»

«No mission will ever be as important as the fact that you’re alright, Dean» he said, looking at the way the hunter held his jaw, as his gaze constantly turned away, as his whole body seemed to quiver «You can’t let it influence you like that» he said, almost in a plea. Almost like he was asking him to fight, not to be won by it , to regain control and move on. And despite the confidence and trust that Dean glimpsed between Castiel’s eyes, still in his own, his words grafted into his skin like a needle that pricks the skin several times, unable to find the vein, and hurts every part with more obstinacy, with more lust, reducing it to an aggregate of spots and bruises.

«Think it’s that simple?» he growled therefore, nauseated, advancing the head forward as if to want, with the gesture, to carry more weight to his words.

«No, Dean. I know it’s not. But if you let us help, we could-»

«There is no way to remove it from my arm, Castiel. Think I haven’t tried to look in every freaking book in the bunker? » he commented with despair and an anger that he perceived spreading throughout his body, interrupting the other’s words. The adrenaline filled him up and he believed that without he would feel as emptied.

It was anger, wild and pure anger that combined with the profound impotence and abstinence that he felt could only lead to madness.

«Why do you always speak as if you would have to deal with this alone?»

«Because it is so»

Castiel, the wounded look as he begged the body to stop looking at anything but him, sought his hand.

«No, Dean »

Dean was feeling suffocated. There, with his back awkwardly resting on a corner of the kitchen, the cold beer of days and days ago that flowed into his hands, the body of Castiel, hot in front of his and a hand that hold the one in which, just a few weeks before, he had held the First Blade. And it was not Castiel’s fault that he felt this way, but it was, moreover, a feeling that was born in the adrenaline that flowed vividly through his veins; it was in the memory of the nightmare that he saw in every object, in every movement, in every perception and for which he felt a strong and overwhelming and oppressive fear similar to terror, but which was accompanied by a feeling of pleasure and enjoyment in being totally enslaved to that force, into sinking that ancient blade into someone’s fresh flesh, which Dean couldn’t suppress, but that lived in the most deep and hidden corners of his subconscious.

That was the real terror. The knowledge that he liked holding that blade. That when he fell on the cold floor of the bathroom in the memory of the dream had , his body had not trembled for mere fear, but for the greed of still perceiving on the skin that dense colour and the yells that, far away, cried for help.

It was in the realization that perhaps, for a moment, he wanted it not to be simply a dream. And the thought, which had lightened in his mind for a few seconds, had brought him down; he had, afterwards, cast it away with a desperate scream, begging it to just go away, and never to stain his mind with such an corrupted idea again.

«Let me go», he sighed, looking at Castiel. He needed air. He felt his hand looking for an object, his knuckles turning white with the impulse to hit something, while he felt his fingers shaking against the bottle with more and more force and, suddenly, he realized what he was about to do.

«Let me go!», he repeated crying out, in panic, getting rid of Castiel’s hand abruptly and throwing the beer bottle on the ground, the glass that, with a noisy crash, broke into a thousand pieces.

The silence filled the air. The contained liquid that expanded under their feet, wetting their shoes.

Castiel looked at him, embittered, and thinned his eyes.

«You know better than me that the way you’re dealing with it is a mistake, Dean » he said, turning around and heading for the corridor, away from the kitchen.

The hunter closed his eyes, sighing deeply before punching a shelf and gritting his teeth for the perceived pain.

He walked, far away from the kitchen, heading to the bedroom, and letting a piece of glass stick into his shoe.

He would never hurt Castiel. He is sure of that. And yet, for a moment, it had seemed that every part of his body had trembled at the mere desire to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also please let me know if you are liking this story so far, a little review or a kudo would mean the world <3


	12. 12.

Dean feels the relentless and inevitable hours advancing within the walls of his own room. He hears the ticking, the hands moving second by second, minute by minute. He tries to sleep, but can’t, and the blankets weigh like rocks over his body. He turns his face from side to side and snorts, annoyed, putting a hand on his face.

He relives the memory in his mind and as much as he tries to get away from it, even for a moment, even just to breathe again, he sinks in it with more violence than the previous time.

He looks at his hands and turns his palms, analyzing them. He brushes over them with his fingers and wonders why they had been so tight, wrapped around the beer bottle he had held in his hand. The answer is clear in his mind and annoying, but Dean puts it aside, desperately looking for a solution that is not that one . Because now, while his body is embraced by the warmth of the sheets below, he lies motionless on the bed, only rarely shaken by an irritation that makes him turn around, and feels that he is no longer eagerly quivering.

He breathes in, deep down his lungs. He perceives a concern climbing up his chest, dipping in his throat, dawning in his eyes, stopping his breath: What would have happened if he had not had the readiness to throw that bottle on the ground? If, for a moment, he would have held it tighter and his body would have been crossed by a foolish and petty instinct, impossible to control, would he have hurt Castiel?

His mind , again, knows the answer, and yet Dean ignores it. Or rather, he rejects it. He knows, knows deep down in his heart, that he would never hurt Castiel just as he knows he won’t ever hurt Sam. And yet, now, a fear, acid and dirty, that stains all that he has managed to build in recent weeks, flows through his thoughts, dancing with new fears. Because he knows himself, and knows that he would have not hurt Castiel, but he recognizes, better than anything else, that in the last days it is not he to have the full control of his body.

He has a mark traced on his arm, a dark and powerful sign, and Dean feels its power increase every day, feeding on past fears and hatred and flowing into an animalistic rage that he feels he cannot control.

The evening is falling while Dean thinks that, perhaps, all this was a mistake. He cannot do this to Castiel. He cannot afford to ignore the power that is greedy in his body and just hope that it does not manifest itself with greater violence when Castiel is around. He cannot allow himself to love a person. Not when his every nerve implores for the longing to strike, torment and kill.

Dean sighs in the bed and feels lonely, while the silence floods the room. He wonders if it is similar to the one that follows when a person is killed, and his last exhaled breath changes into a silence that recalls the lost life. He wonders if it’ll be the only noise he hears from now on: life dying, slowly.

It falling falls into an endless dark abyss. A dark vortex that suggests that everything on the surface would die, suffocated by the glacial darkness of which that same atmosphere is full. It seems to him to see them for a moment: the trees, soaked with a black liquid, and the leaves, impregnated with it, falling down towards the ground, suddenly too loaded to be able to keep the weight and the floor itself, black and dense, capturing any creature that tries to trample on its darkness that rests horizontally.

He feels as so because Castiel is not in the sheets next to him, there where he has always been in the last weeks, except for any angelic urgencies.

He passes a hand on the soft bedsheet below and wonders what Castiel has done every night, by his side, without falling asleep, but quietly waiting for his awakening. Thinks about whether he felt alone or not during those waking hours, or whether the mere presence of his own body near his made the waiting less unpleasant.

Dean stood up, unable to lie in such a pool of darkness for much longer.

He opened the door with caution, looking at the room at first with circumspection and then moving his whole body to the place where he was now walking. Silence filling the room. The bluish light of the television illuminated the otherwise dark one, and the figures on the screen shifted to such a low volume that they almost seemed to mimic what was being said.

He calmly approached, the steps that resounded in the room, trying not to attract the attention of Castiel who, having felt his presence and having given him a quick glance , resumed looking at the cartoon transmitted. Dean observed his face and the shadows transmitted playing and blending on his features. He sat down next to him, keeping the silence he has entered with.

He took a quick look at the angel, who had been lying on the couch for the last few minutes, to bring back, a few moments later, his eyes on the television.

Then, in the same silence maintained until then, he laid down at his side, surrounding him from behind, with his face set over the head of the other.

He breathes in and out , feeling the air circulating in his body, as if he had held his breath until then, and closed his eyes for a moment the atmosphere so different from the asphyxiating one he had perceived in the last hours, in the room, alone.

He perceived Castiel’s hair, soft on the part of his face that rested there and the warmth of his body, which the angel had not refused to be wrapped in .

Slowly, almost as if it were overflowing from his mouth, but with the same firmness as a military command, Castiel spoke, over the low voice, not overpowering the noise, albeit weak, of the cartoon transmitted:

«I’m still angry at you»

«I know» Dean simply murmured, holding closer to himself and clenching tighter Castiel’s body.

And, without other words coming to fill that space, both continued to watch the program until, over, Castiel turned off the television. He relaxed into the arms of the hunter, who held him as if he had the fear that he might leave at any moment, but, at the same time, did not hold on him with such violence as to prevent him from leaving, if he wanted to.

Castiel felt the tiredness of the other and let that one’ sleep move partially even on his own and, closed his eyes, felt the worry and anger leaving the limbs that had occupied them with heaviness until then.

Dean watched Castiel’s body move in his arms, adjusting, the dark hair that collided with his chin.

«You fell asleep» he commented, still surprised, in a whisper, a few moments later, while Castiel regained knowledge of the world around him. The other faintly grunted , moving slightly and keeping his eyes closed.

«I’m sorry about yesterday, Cas» murmured then Dean, stroking his hair. He had woken up a few hours before Castiel and had felt the presence of his body next to his own long before he had opened his eyes and had actually seen him. He had expected to find him awake and had waited a few seconds, striving to think of something to say, but then, looking back at him, he had realized that Castiel was asleep.

He had touched him, slowly, gently, feeling his fingers trembling at such a faint contact, so soft when only not even a day before he had tightened the bottle with his hands and believed he could have broke it due to the pressure exerted. A tremor so different from the thrill that he had felt running through his body and under which he had trembled with impatience and longing.

And he understood, in that moment, what Castiel had had to feel every day, awake watching another sleeping by his side. That morning, still overshadowed by the night, partly because of what happened the day before, Dean felt a sensation drowning his chest. It was as if he were on the verge of uttering the first tears: he felt the throat burning, his brow wrinkled and the broken breath , and yet he did not cry.

He understood there, more than any other time he had spent with Castiel, more than any time he had kissed him and that they touched each other’s bodies, more than at any other time before when the angel had disappeared for weeks without leaving any news, before he had then, as always, reappeared with a beat of wings, more than when he had dissolved in that lake when Leviathans were still around, more than when he had felt his own body give in when Castiel had let loose of his hand in Purgatory and had felt himself sucked into the celestial portal with a cry, how loving really is an extremely fragile act.

Because Castiel was there, his head resting peacefully just a few steps away from his own face and his eyes closed, and Dean felt himself sinking from too much vulnerability. Castiel slept and trusted him when, just a few steps from where his chest meets its own, a red mark that could kill him is standing out.

Dean felt a knot in his throat because he knows who, even now, has in his arms and as he held him tighter, he felt the fear, pure and vivid, of might having losen him. Because Dean looked at him and felt the terror of realizing how he really felt about that creature that feebly embraced his body, while every part of Dean would have wanted to hold him a little tighter, to protect him from every existing evil, to make him feel safe. Because Dean scrutinized Castiel and felt time stopping.

Castiel kept quiet and Dean felt his body stiff. Everything that had happened the previous day seemed years away, yet a small part of him knew that it was not so. He waited still, hesitating, praying that Castiel would tell him something, but when he did not, he set out to move, fearing that he would still be angry with him.

That, sensing the movement of the hunter, strengthened the grip of his arms, getting closer to his body.

«I can’t leave if you hold onto me», Dean murmured, his voice hesitant and slightly irritated by all that he felt lurking in his mind, between his limbs, in his chest.

«Why must you stand up?» asked Castiel then. The voice hoarse

Dean looked at Castiel for a few moments; his face sunk on his own body, confused.

«Um. Because yesterday we had an argument » he simply answered in a euphemism , looking for the most neutral answer

«Yes»

Dean looked at him with a frowny expression, not understanding how he should behave, and pulling himself up with an elbow again tried to get out of the couch. Castiel held him tighter.

«I am sorry too, Dean» said then.

The hunter felt a sigh leaving his nostrils, relieved.

The silence filled the room again, before Dean, a hand in Castiel’s hair, spoke again.

«I was afraid» he murmured, before he felt the shame in pronouncing the words that followed « For a moment I believed that I would have hurt you»

Castiel lifted up his face, his hair slightly ruffled on his forehead, and Dean noticed how pale his face looked. He convinced himself that he looked so because of the faint light in the room while waiting for the other’s words to ring.

But those words never came. Instead, Castiel approached, and kissed him sweetly, feeling Dean’s body trembling at that touch, so faint, so delicate, after all the evil he had dreamed of having done, after all the pain that for a moment he thought he could have caused.

Dean felt like he was collapsing. He wanted to beg him to yell at him as he himself had done the day before, to hit him, to leave, to be the one to lose control, for once : he would have been able to respond to such an act, he was used to it. He would have basked for the umpteenth time in a hatred that brought the past into the surface and would have ended up breaking something in the corners of his room, just as it had happened the previous afternoon. But Castiel had, once again, grazed calmly, kissed softly his lips and Dean, at all this, still could not respond adequately.

They would have needed to shout, to talk. To say something more than just those murmurs of sorrow to which they had abandoned themselves shortly before. They had to, thought Dean.

It couldn’t all end with a touch, with a silence too heavy to bear. They should have talked about it, he should have heard that he had acted, once again, in the wrong way, that Castiel had been one step away from leaving forever like all the people before him.

But those people weren’t Castiel. And Castiel knew Dean.

So, that little kiss started by the angel began others. Some desperate, where Dean apologized, and other sweets, where Castiel murmured that everything was fine, and many, small and chaste, that the hunter laid on the temples, on the nose, on the cheeks, at the height of the eyebrow, on the mouth of the other, thanking him.

Then the kisses ended as they had begun: in shy looks of expectation.

«You’re cute when you sleep » said Dean, grinning, trying to mask the emptiness he felt at chest level.

Castiel thinned his eyes, tilting his face slightly «Didn’t you say it was creepy to watch other people sleep?» He asked in memory of the many times Dean had said this to him with narrow teeth. The hunter pressed his lips, snorting a laugh, and Castiel slumped over his chest again.

Sending a tremor to the body of the other, Castiel spoke again «Aren’t you sleepy?» whispered.

Dean giggled «It depends» he said, allusive

«On what?» then asked the other, looking at him again, perplexed.

«On how you’re going to wake me up,» Dean said then , grinning.

Castiel moved, standing astride his body and Dean closed his eyes.

Then a pillow hit him in the face.

«Cas!» cried Dean, while Castiel, above him, watched him.

«Are you awake now?» he asked, with the same innocent expression as ever.

«Asshole» commented Dean, shaking his head while looking at him. Castiel kissed the smile that had formed on his lips.

The night illuminated their faces, while Dean, lying on the hood of the Impala, watched the stars above, with Castiel sitting beside him.

They had gone out when the celestial bodies had already manifested in the night, accompanied by the cry that Sam had uttered when, after dinner , they had kissed, Dean sitting on the table, tall enough to allow Castiel to stand and, with his hand wandering around on the other’s arse, bringing him closer to himself, Sam had screamed, despite the funny tone of his voice, that “ guys! We eat on that table, get a freacking room. We have tons if you two had not noticed”. Dean had snorted and answered something in a similar tone before leading the other out of the bunker.

Dean observed the firmament above him, trying to catch a glimpse of some shooting star, while Castiel observed him and the sky in wonder, which until recently had illustrated to Dean as it were just a picture , telling him of the different constellations high in the sky. A chill penetrated under his jacket.

«What are you looking for?» the angel asked, looking at Dean stretched out with his arms crossed and his eyes amused from one direction to the other.

«A falling star», Dean replied, not turning his eyes away from the sky.

«I thought you didn’t care about these kind of things» murmured Castiel; the trenchcoat that fluttered lightly in the wind, shifting its gaze from the hunter to the sky.

«No, in fact. I don’t care» Dean murmured, confirming what the other had said, but still looking firmly at the sky above.

He never cared because he never believed in it, really. Before he knew Castiel, he had never believed in the existence of angels, let alone the possibility that something so little in the sky could fulfill his wish. He could not cling to these petty hopes, albeit minimal, because he knew that the mere expectation, if it were in vain, would kill him.

Castiel scrutinized him, puzzled and Dean, crossed his eyes, cleared his voice.

«When I was little... »

Castiel noted that whenever Dean referred to a premature phase of his life, he never identified himself as a "child", but only "small", as if he meant only physical structure and never mental. He inhaled, listening to him speak.

« ...I took Sam to see the shooting stars, one day» he said, looking back over the sky.

«The date of mom’s death was approaching, and dad was often kind of violent at that time» _More than usual_ , he would have liked to add, but he let these words reside silently in his memories alone.

«One day he came home drunk. I didn’t want Sam to see him like that, , so I took him to see the stars. He’s always been a big nerd, and I knew he’d only eaten a few days before some weird, huge astrology book, so I took him out, you know.. To distract him. I didn’t believe all that shooting stars thingy , but Sam liked the idea and seeing his expression was enough to bear my father in the following days»

Castiel looked at him, nodding, stoic.

«Did you see any that night? »

Dean nodded, staring into the sky.

«And what did you wish for? »

«Nothing» he murmured

Castiel looked at him and although Dean had shrugged his shoulders casually, he saw in his face something hidden, not yet uttered.

The shooting stars are not what humans believe they are and Castiel does not understand how the assumption that from these may derive a wish fulfilled: They are, on the other hand, only meteoroids that burn from atmospheric friction and leave meteors wandering in bright trails in the sky. And yet, something in Dean’s gaze drives him to forget his celestial origin.

He stretched out by the hunter’s side, and beheld the firmament with him.

«Here’s one» he murmured, a few minutes later in a feeble utterance of words

«What? Where?! » asked Dean, the tone of the voice high and surprised, while Castiel pointed to a point where the sky had been, shortly before, crossed by a one’s trail.

Dean snorted, thinned his eyes and Castiel studied the reaction: maybe Dean really cared about this whole thing and wished that he could see some of them.

The hunter fixed himself over the hood, intending to find one, before being again dominated by the calm and deep voice of Castiel, who tried desperately to involve him in such an act, that informed him of a new one that he had seen.

«Oh! Bite me» he growled then, annoyed «What? Do you have an angelic radar or something? »

«No, Dean. Angels have no»-

«Yes, yes Cas I know, I was-» he grunted and then «There’s one!» he shouted, pointing a point in the immensity above and indulging in euphoria , laughing for the excitement felt.

Castiel looked up at the sky above them, and then looked at Dean, smiling gently at the sight of happiness painted on his face. He wondered, at that moment, if it really took so little to make him smile, how few such experiences he had as a child. How many passions he had given up in the past to continue the ‘family business’

Dean smiled, still amazed by what he had just seen and looked at Castiel, his gaze already fixed on his own.

«Don’t you think it’s stupid.. um you know, this kind of human tradition? »

«There is something extremely vulnerable in thinking about a humanity that, in spite of all that it has gone through» He waited a few moments and corrected himself «or maybe, because of that... still relies on nature for desires that believes it cannot achieve by itself» And looking at Dean, he inevitably perceives the same vulnerability.

«I don’t find it stupid, only.. human»

Dean, the eyes held in his, green as the leaves of the trees around them, looked at him, his face indecipherable.

«Don’t you think so? » Castiel asked, suddenly uncertain, keeping his gaze fixed on the hunter and analyzing, in vain, the expression

«Cas? »

«Yes? »

«I love you»

The silence filled the air around them. The wind blew and the car creaked, under their weight and the distant sound of an owl was heard. Yet, for Dean, everything was silent. Everything seemed to focus on him and on what he had just said. He felt as if the world had stopped just to scrutinize and judge him.

The face, first careful and fixed in that of Castiel, now became stiff, appalled by what he had pronounced. He closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the angel’s gaze above him and gasped, not feeling able to say anything at all. He glanced back at Castiel, the face still in his.

He had spoken those words with such spontaneity that he had not actually realized it at first; then he had heard the echo of those swaying with violence in his mind and could have not helped but to sink with those.

Castiel, grazed Dean’s hand with his own, looking for his eyes.

«Dean» said «Don’t worry» he continued, sensing the discomfort of the other, who shook his head.

Castiel knew how difficult this was for him. He had reassembled his soul in Hell, he knew him. He knew how much past experiences had shaped the attitudes he now possessed and how much the lack of affection and contact, when still a child, had an influence on his need to be constantly cautious about having any kind of connection.

For the losses he had suffered, those simple words that would come out of someone’s mouth with simplicity, from that of Dean carried a weight that he had dragged within him for years.

«No, Cas» said Dean, clearing his voice « I...»

He crossed his eyes, now safer «I really mean what I said»

«I know, Dean» he softly said, lying only partially and smiling hardly, relieved

For a moment, in fact, the thought that he had not meant those words, had crossed the Castiel’s mind: until recently he could never even have believed the possibility of having such a contact with Dean. He didn’t believe that, after everything he’d done in the past, Dean might consider him worthy of a friendship. Believing he loved him now seemed, even, idyllic.

Dean shook his head again, feeling a redness rising from his neck. It was so right, so pure, so healthy to say that Dean knew, form the moment the words had left his mouth that they were true: he knew he loved him, he had always knew, but he didn’t expect that he would ever be able to express it.

Not in this way, at least. He believed he would have told him one night, drunk and if Castiel had been horrified, he would have blamed the alcohol swallowed.

And instead they had come out of his mouth with sincerity, on a winter night where, sober, he had understood that he had bonded to someone more than he had ever did in the past. And though the thought frightened him, it manifested itself, timid and growing, a strong and new sensation in his chest.

He looked at Castiel’s eyes, blue and vivid, and knew that he could never withdraw those words. Simply because there was no need to do so.

«I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you, Cas» he whispered.

Castiel looked at the hunter’s face, looking at him and waiting a few moments before speaking again.

«I love you, too, Dean», he then said, and although Dean already knew it, he could not help but feel a heat shining on his chest.

Castiel’s love had always been present and explicit in the eyes of the other. It was in the way he pronounced his name, so genuine and pure. It was in the way he looked at him with those big, blue eyes and the complete devotion he had towards him. It was in all the decisions Castiel had made for Dean and Dean alone. He knew why he had not been the first to tell him, and he realized it at that moment, as he looked at him smiling: He had never expressed it out loud because he knew that by telling him Dean would have felt uncomfortable, and almost obliged to say the same.

He knew that Dean loved him and he knew that he loved him himself and that’s why he had waited peacefully to hear those words, without any kind of rush. Then, those had arrived with the same tranquillity with which he had wanted to make him feel, with which he had wanted to make him understand that there was no hurry, and Castiel had been able to tell him the same.

Dean doesn’t know what people search for when they look up at the sky and see a shooting star through it, but he wonders if, sometimes, it’s something just like this.


End file.
